


Remnants

by Emyliine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, BL, Dystopia, Fantasy, Gods, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Original Character(s), Romance, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 16:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 89,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21121667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emyliine/pseuds/Emyliine
Summary: A web novel that follows the story of a soldier and a rebel as they unravel the mysteries, plots, and lies of everything they've ever known."PUT YOUR EYES ON THIS. YOU WON'T REGRET IT. IT'S SOOOO GOOD Y'ALL." - review from my friend, very credible





	1. Prologue

Two is an uneven number; if there cannot be one, there should be three. Two is an unlucky number; if three becomes two, misfortune will fall onto the others. Two is an evil number; it is avoided at all costs. Because once, there were two gods: Creator, the One Who Created Us, and Envier, the One Who Destroyed Us. Before humans, the two were nameless. They were together, they were opposite, they were whole.

Then Creator made humans and enjoyed their worship. She found their quirks and petty turmoils and silly desires a wonder. She helped them build up society and be the best they could be, because she loved them. But the other god envied Creator’s worshippers while simultaneously yearning for the times Before—before humans, when it had been just the two of them. His envy overtook him and he started to massacre them all. Creator tried to stop him and they fought for a thousand days and nights. Their battle toppled temples, burned down libraries, leveled cities. As Creator loved her creations, she loved her counterpart, and did not want to live in a world without him. But she realized after the thousandth night that Envier would not stop unless she stopped him. So she did.

She solidified Envier’s immortal body into stone, and hid the statue away where it could not be harmed. And then, in heartbreak and shame, Creator hid herself from mortals.

But hundreds of years is a long time and millions of humans is a large number. When the remnant of Envier was found, because inevitably it was found, it was not destroyed. It was coveted. The Cult of Envy wanted to reawaken the old god. With gifts of limbs and senses from only the most worthy, the remnant could be reborn. The cultists worked to cultivate their minds, bodies, and souls in the hope that their offering would be accepted. Because for sacrificing a worthy gift they would receive a part of the god in return, a piece of his abilities.

In response, the Society of the One True God formed a special sect of trained soldiers to combat the cultist regime. After all, very few actually wanted Envier to be awoken, with no telling what he would do or destroy when he was. Without Creator’s help, the temples had not been rebuilt so glorious, the libraries had not been filled with so much knowledge, the cities had not been remade so splendid. If Envier had another go, society would surely crumble under his rage and humanity would not recover at all.

But unlike the Society, the cultists were scattered and secretive. They did not build temples, did not gather in more than ten, did not keep rigorous contact with their leader. It was not easy; no matter how many limbs they cut off, if they could not cut off the head then the beast would never die.

Then came the news. The Envier had been gifted a voice. The next gift, a life, was the last needed to awaken the god. The Temple General pleaded to the people of the city and received not just thousands of donations, but hundreds of citizens enlisted into the sect to help root out the cultists. They lay an all-out siege on every city, town, and hamlet. They killed hundreds, tortured dozens, until the information they wanted was obtained. The location of the leader of the Cult of Envy.

Knowing the cult leader would move quickly and be aware of any attacks, they had to act quicker and lighter. Ruadhan sent his best soldier to infiltrate the leader’s multilayer hideout and kill everyone there. He was fast, efficient, and skilled. He reached the leader’s quarters in under an hour with two dozen lives behind him, ready to end more. A boy in the antechamber stopped him in his tracks. No older than eleven or twelve, he stood when the soldier entered. Just stood, and stared. Faced the soldier’s sword with no fear, no surprise, no anger. He did not even sound an alarm.

The soldier moved into the inner chamber and killed the four guards around the leader with ease. The cult leader was skilled in combat herself and it took another hour to subdue her. The actual killing was easy. No one survived disembowelment. When the soldier left the boy was still there, quietly sitting, wordlessly watching, as he vanished out the door.

Kiol's orders had been to kill all, and he could not let others know he had a moment of weakness, and so that is what he told them. Ruadhan accepted the report. Kiol knew he was sending a team to clean up his work and would see for himself. With the success of the mission, Ruadhan brought him to the Society temple. And there, hidden behind the glorious statue of the Creator, was a staircase down into the earth. It went down in a straight, steep line, its sides closed by rock. At the bottom, stepping stones the size of beds drifted across a pool of black water. And at the other end was a statue. Bigger than any statue Kiol had ever seen, as big as a house, and so worn with age and mold its features were indistinguishable. Unlike the statue in the temple above, and all others of the Creator, it was not posed heroically or wisely or compassionately. Its figure twisted in on itself, as though afraid of the flickering torchlight that walked towards it as Ruadhan and Kiol approached. Maybe not fear— maybe anguish, or sorrow. It was impossible to tell with no expression to be seen.

And there Kiol learned the true story of the Thousand Night Battle.

Creator knew she and Envier were equally matched and one could not defeat the other. So Creator defeated herself in order to defeat Envier, turning them both into remnants. The world would fall to chaos if it was known Creator was gone, so they protected her here and when a worthy vassal showed itself they slowly worked to awaken her as the cultists tried to awaken Envier.

Kiol gifted his hearing to the remnant and in return his every other sense was heightened—smell, sight, touch, perception, even taste. It was a glimpse of being god. But the high didn’t last long. Even deadlier than before, Kiol was idolized by citizens and fellow soldiers alike, but without hearing them, he grew ever distant. He had never realized how much of the world, how much the joy of living, relied on sound. Conversation, music, debates, sermons. Even Ruadhan, who had once treasured his most talented soldier, seemed to have had his use of Kiol and disregarded him. Unable to hear shouted commands, he could no longer function in the regime. He was relegated to assassin; a position that afforded him a large amount of free will and free time, but it was the least honorable of positions and it isolated him even further.

He killed many. Whoever Ruadhan assigned, from the lowest citizen to the highest political figure. The Envier remnant was never found. The sense of joy and freedom from eradicating the Cult of Envy fell to quiet contentment, which fell to tolerant obedience. Soldiers marched the streets in the shadows of cramped city buildings, themselves in the shadows of golden glorious temples from centuries past. They kept the streets and the people safe. Sacrifice some autonomy, the Archbishop explained, sacrifice some tolerance, for peace and safety. A worthwhile and necessary sacrifice.

Citizens clung to the One True God even more. She offered community, sanctuary, certainty, vindication. The Archbishop was glad to give it all in Creator’s name. And in Her name the world obeyed, or otherwise suffered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, kudos, or lurking! All appreciated~


	2. Chapter One

Kiol was appointed to the rare group assignment, one in a smaller group with every soldier acting of their own accord and instructions, no need for a commander. But it was a deeply important mission; another group of rebels had cropped up. The third in five months. They could not just be killed, they needed to be brought back and interrogated. If a mission needed to be a guaranteed success, it had Kiol in it.

The forest was littered with ruins from the Old City that had been reclaimed by nature. Most of the architecture was rubble and ash from the Thousand Night Battle, but some buildings still remained upright, even if ravaged with time. The once shining paint was in grimy patches, the marble and stone cracked from encroaching tree roots and covered in moss and ivy.

Kiol and his companions had rounded up eight rebels when a figure shot out from the fallen pillar a soldier had been inspecting. She gave chase, but Kiol was faster, sprinting with ease through the roots and shrubs and branches that slowed his companion. It did not seem to slow the refugee, but they still were not faster than Kiol. And they couldn’t escape his skill. He drew the curved throwing blade from his belt and with less than a second to judge the speed, position, and distance, he let it go.

It embedded into the fleeing thigh with perfect precision even through flowing robes. The person fell and landed heavily on their stomach and elbows. Kiol jogged up to them as they struggled, knowing even if they could get themselves up they would not make it far with a pierced hamstring. He grabbed their shoulder to haul them around and froze. The dark, quiet eyes that stared back at him were the same ones that had watched him six years before as he left behind the dead body of the cult leader.

Though the boy had grown older and changed drastically, Kiol recognized those fearless eyes without hesitation. They had haunted him for six years. When Ruadhan’s team returned they said nothing of a boy and Kiol had not known what happened to him. And here he was now, long hair tied and pinned up in what was likely a clean style at some point, his features definitely older but still soft. With his elaborate hairstyle and delicate face, any would think him a woman if not for the male robes fitted snugly to his chest. Kiol had not had time to think about it while chasing him, but his appearance didn’t match the other rebels either. Those people wore coarse low-class garments and from their smell Kiol knew they hadn’t washed in over two weeks. The person in front of him wore finer fabric and through the smell of salty sweat was a light fragrance of clean body and flowery perfume.

Kiol realized they had been staring at each other for too long now. He whipped around to look into the trees behind him but could not see or detect the soldier coming. She likely thought there was no point with Kiol on the trail.

But he wouldn’t take any chances. He knelt down, his hand still on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, though he didn’t know why. The boy clearly wasn’t scared at all, nor even angry or pained despite facing the man who had just attacked him.

Kiol moved his arm around the slight shoulders and scooped the other under his legs. The boy finally had a reaction then, wincing in pain as Kiol hefted him up in his arms. 

Slender hands gripped the front of Kiol’s vest as he loped through the trees. The boy was not that heavy but despite that, Kiol’s movement was hindered. He may have been slight of frame but he was still almost a fully grown man. Kiol knew he couldn’t take much time, meaning he couldn’t go far, and though he was in the forest often it wasn’t as though he had it memorized. He wanted to find a cave of some sort but quickly abandoned that idea. Instead he sank down by a fallen tree whose uprooted end had dragged a wall of earth with it. He placed the boy down as gently as possible but he still winced and jerked in pain.

“Stay here,” he murmured. “Don’t take the knife out, it’ll become worse. I’ll be back before nightfall.” He usually tried not to talk for too long, even though he could, technically. He depended entirely on the feel of vibrations in his throat and the memory of speech in order to do so and he was never sure if he spoke comprehensibly or not. Most people seemed to understand him well enough, but it was still sometimes annoying. It was easier to just say one or two words. But in situations like this, where it was necessary, it came in handy.

He stood but a movement drew his eye to the boy’s hands. He was gesturing—no, he was signing.

Kiol’s eyes widened and he signed back, “You know sign-speak? Are you deaf too?”

The boy shook his head and signed again, since Kiol’s shock had made him miss it the first time. “Why are you helping me?”

Kiol froze. A reasonable question to be sure, but one he didn’t want to answer. One he had not even asked himself.

Because the truth was, he had no idea. And while responding with that answer wouldn’t help the boy trust him, more than that, it frightened Kiol himself. This was a rebel and someone who had been at least associated with the Cult of Envy if not a part of it. Kiol had known him for less than a collective minute. And yet, he felt compelled to help him. Had not considered anything else.

“Because I know you,” he signed back without truly thinking. But then he considered his own answer and thought it really did not feel like a lie. Well, he had seen the boy before, of course, but that wasn’t knowing.

“I know you too,” the boy signed. Kiol stopped at that, still half-stood up. A heavy few seconds kept him there as he wanted to question further but knew he had already pushed his time more than he could. The boy watched him, breathing heavier from pain than Kiol was from exertion.

“Stay here,” Kiol signed again. “I’ll be back. I promise.” And he sprinted off through the woods.

He slowed when he was close to the ruins and stepped out. The five other soldiers all stared, then looked between each other. Kiol didn’t need to attempt reading their lips to know what they said— he came back empty handed from a chase? How was that possible?

“Got away,” he told them gruffly, stomping over. His indifference was nothing new to them but surely even the notoriously uncaring Kiol would be outraged at being bested?

One of them moved and Kiol studied his lips. “You couldn’t track him?”

He shook his head. Another exchange of glances and with their faces turned away he couldn’t determine their words. Then a soldier grabbed one of the prisoners by their hair. “Who was that?!”

The rebel was turned away completely so Kiol had no hope of reading his lips. But judging from the soldier’s reaction, the answer had not really been an answer.

“Don’t fucking play games with me and answer straight!” He kneed the man in the face and kicked him over, ready to stomp on him before Kiol raised a hand.

“Question later. Bring them back first,” he ordered. He was not a commander, and technically they were all equals, but no one would dare disobey him because more than anyone there, he had the strength and skill to subdue them all. Kiol could tell there were grumbling sighs, but the rebels were brought to their feet and they started the trek back. Whether behind or ahead, Kiol couldn’t see the others’ conversation, and turning back to look would be obvious and shameful. It was the part of his gift that he would never get used to. He was sure they were talking about him.

They dumped the rebels into holding cells and the others eagerly stayed for interrogation. At this point Kiol usually left for the food or training halls, but he needed to hear who exactly that person was. If any clues were given to his identity or base location, Kiol needed to know as soon as the others. He was aware that staying there meant leaving that person out in the wilderness, with a bleeding knife wound and open to the elements and any person or animal that came along. So, while not eager, he was even more motivated to get confessions.

He watched the interrogator break bones and slice skin. That was what pleased him the most about his gift—he no longer heard the agonized screams of the tortured. It was not long before the rebels fessed up to their dealings. They were not associated with the other rebellions, but had been inspired by them. They were not residual members of the Cult of Envy. The eldest woman confessed to being their leader, which she had done from the start, likely in an attempt to save her companions from torture. She hadn’t. But in even the highest pain, none of the rebels admitted to knowing the person who got away. They were all there, they said, it was only the eight of them. They had not even known that that person was nearby.

If the soldiers had gotten a good look at the boy, they would have noticed the stark difference in appearance and might have accepted such answers. But that boy had escaped Kiol’s pursuit, and so there was no way in their minds that he was a random passerby who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kiol stepped up to the man currently strapped into the chair and the interrogator moved back respectfully. He pulled the long dagger from his belt and slit the man’s throat in one smooth motion. The interrogator didn’t sit back idly then, jumping forward as though to stop him, but Kiol brushed aside the attempt to grab him. The man was dead anyway, there was nothing that could be done. He did not bother looking at the other soldiers’ shocked expressions, and went to the bound, kneeling prisoners. He grabbed the leader by the back of her head and held the dagger to her throat.

“Who was the one who escaped?” he asked. He did not demand; he never raised or lowered his voice. It was for practical reasons, because otherwise he would not know how truly loud or soft he spoke, and so he kept without deviation to the most natural level that came from his throat. But to others, he noticed it sometimes unnerved them. The rebels now were unnerved, eyes and mouths wide, full of tears and strings of bloodied saliva.

“—don’t know!” he saw from two. The others had bowed over their knees and screamed into the floor as they banged their heads to plead.

Kiol shoved the leader aside and she fell heavily into the wall. He turned back to the others. “They really don’t know,” he said. He wiped his dagger clean on his pants, sheathed it, and left.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him on the way to the food hall. He turned to Ruadhan’s pale face, not startled despite how few people could grab him undetected. It was exactly because of that that he wasn’t startled; Ruadhan was the only one, and so it announced his presence better than he could himself. He was also one of the few who did not enunciate obnoxiously when talking to him, so Kiol could read his lips without a problem.

“Where is your throwing knife?” he asked. 

He almost brought his hand instinctively to the empty hilt, but he stopped himself. “I did not bring it.”

“Yes you did. None of my students would, but you especially would never leave a companion from your belt.”

If Kiol was thought to be emotionless, Ruadhan was a statue. No one could read him, and even now, despite the chill dripping up Kiol’s back, he was not sure if it was his own conscience or if it came from some instinct of Ruadhan’s suspicion.

It was true he would never leave it behind, but he would never lose it, either, in the field or otherwise. Changing his story now would just be worse, anyway. “I did not bring it,” he doubled down. “I did not check my belt well.”

Ruadhan glanced him over. Kiol’s tunic sleeve was stained with blood from the boy’s injured leg, but the black fabric made it near invisible. And even if Ruadhan noticed it, he had just come from interrogation and killing a man. It was not out of place. The general released his shoulder and after another second of thought, waved his hand to dismiss him.

Kiol took exactly the same amount of food as usual in three layers box: noodles, a few side dishes of vegetables in various sauces, green onion pancakes, and roasted meat. He brought it to his room and ate the noodles, then re-stacked the rest and tied it into a bundle with a cloth. Then he sat on his bed and waited.

He was lucky enough to have his own room, a rare privilege in the soldier sect, but that did not make it easier to sneak out. His room had no window, and only the hall that held Ruadhan’s chambers were ever free from people. People who could bear witness to Kiol leaving at a strange time of day without any orders to blame. He was not particularly tall or wide, but still somehow he was imposing and he drew attention no matter where he went. And even if he could slip unnoticed through the temple, he had to report to the guards that patrolled the grounds before leaving the premises.

There was an easy solution to this, not one that Kiol was particularly keen on, but few other options would work as well. And so he waited.

When the time came he tied up his hair, tucked the bundle into his vest with some money, and slipped from his room. The guards made no remark on the reason for his excursion, and he went into the city. Within minutes, the front of his hair had fallen from his stubby ponytail and hung about his face in an unkempt curtain. Even though citizens did not know the extent of his job— otherwise he would not be very good at his job— they knew the extent of his abilities. And regardless, his aura kept everyone on edge around him. So people skirted out of his way and stopped walking when he approached.

He found the pharmacy he wanted, a shaded little shop tucked into the bowels of a pile of buildings. Like most sections of the city, houses were not built side-by-side. They leaned into each other and one building might have been extended and built over the top of another, only to have another building on the other side built the same over its top. The pharmacy was a single story, squat building under a construction like this and dipped slightly into the ground, like the weight of three additional roofs over top of it was crushing it down into the earth.

Kiol ducked past the low hanging paper lanterns marking the store and stepped inside. It was dark inside with only a single candle lighting up a face over the counter. Beyond its flickering light one could faintly see the rows and rows of tiny drawers that covered the walls. The pale face at the counter stood languidly when Kiol entered.

“Ah, you,” she said bluntly, then stopped speaking. She likely did not expect Kiol to know what she said at all. He ordered medicines for a knife wound and she prepared the concoctions without a word. When she handed the two packages over and he didn’t move, she stopped mid-seat and stood again, looking at him curiously. He sighed and ordered another mixture for constipation tea. The side of her lips quirked up but she righted her expression and prepared it for him. It was not that bowel movements were amusing to her, this was her profession after all, but for Kiol to request such a thing was inevitably a conflict with his image, and created an ironic sort of humor, and she was not as trained in inhibiting reactions as the guards. With that tucked away among the other packages and the pharmacist paid, he returned to the streets.

He angled himself in such a way through the city that he was never in a spot that would be overtly strange or out of place, and at the edges of the city he stayed to the shadows until he could slip into a farmer’s cart that was leaving the gates. He lay beside a basket of half-rotten cabbage and counted the distance. Once he was sure they were past the farm fields and in the trees, he slipped out again and crouched by a trunk until the cart turned a corner and was gone.

Then he ran.

Without holding a cumbersome weight he could run fast and agile, but he was still human, and he wasn’t running at a sustainable pace. He paused a few times for rest and breath and by the time he reached the ruins from before, the sky was dusky gray. Fortunately it was early autumn, so it didn’t get too cold even at night. Still, he had promised ‘before nightfall.’ He sprinted full speed the rest of the way. He slowed to a walk when he saw the fallen tree, not wanting to burst into the boy’s sight and frighten him.

He stopped at the wall of lifted earth and looked at his knife laying in a pool of blood. The boy was gone.


	3. Chapter Two

From the look and smell, he had left hours ago, so it wasn’t that he had gotten impatient with the coming night. Kiol snatched up the knife and followed the blood trail. Even without it he could have easily tracked him based on scent and the disturbed forest surroundings. The boy had gotten a lot farther than Kiol would have expected with a bleeding wound and torn hamstring. The further he walked the more concerned he grew until he finally stumbled upon a body strewn in the dirt, gray-blue robes turned brown with blood-soaked mud.

He crouched down and checked the boy over. He was alive, but that could change soon. He picked him up and it was even worse this time with such a limp weight and the packages in his vest making everything more cumbersome. He walked until he found a stream and lay him down again. Then he paused. It was not like he hadn’t seen all manner of bodies in all manner of positions and undress, but for some reason the thought of lifting the boy’s robes brought a tremor to his hands. He busied himself taking the cloth off the food box and getting out the medicines, but it couldn’t be avoided forever.

He looked down at the boy sprawled in the short, wispy flora that covered the stream banks. His face had already looked pale in contrast to the vivid black of his hair, but now it was frighteningly white. Kiol had seen many, many people die, but none had ever looked so peaceful.

He tilted the boy over, took a deep breath, swore under his breath, and lifted the robe skirts. That made him pause again, when he really shouldn’t have been taking so long.

But the pale slender legs were covered in scars. Slashing scars, from a blade that could not have been small but was very sharp. And they were deliberately done, across a long length of time. The brutal look of it in contrast to the boy’s otherwise refined and delicate appearance was unsettling.

Kiol grit his teeth, shook the astonishment away, and set to work. He cleaned the wound out well and stuffed it with the proper herbs, then smeared the other mixture onto the cloth and wrapped the leg tight. Then he shifted the boy around so he lay the opposite way and dunked his head into the water.

It took not a second before he convulsed, then flailed, and Kiol drew him up again. He held him steady with one arm under the boy's chest and smacked his back a few times to help him cough out the water he inhaled. Then the boy looked up at him and Kiol’s breath caught.

With soaked hair plastered to his dripping face, and long, darkly wet eyelashes framing dark eyes, it was like looking at one of the masterful paintings in ancient temples. His eyes weren’t entirely dark, either, Kiol saw, but speckled with minuscule bursts of gold even in the moonlight.

He looked away, up at the treetops, and flipped the boy over to rest him carefully onto the ground off his bad leg. “Have to eat,” he muttered. He fumbled for the stacked food boxes and thrust it towards him. “I’ll find somewhere you can rest the night.” He left him to hopefully do as he instructed, and went in search of a cave. There were ruins all over the forest but they were routinely inspected by soldiers now, after they had proven to be rebels’ favored meeting place so it wasn’t as if he could hide there.

It took a bit of searching but he found a good enough cave, a bit on the small side, but so was the boy, so what did it matter? He created a bed with a thick layer of dry leaves then hurried back, hoping the boy hadn’t died or wandered off again. But no, he sat by the stream where Kiol had left him, his good leg bent up with his torso draped over it. He had eaten the vegetables and onion cakes, but not the meat.

“Eat,” Kiol said, gesturing to the dish. “You lost much blood. Need meat.”

“I don’t eat meat,” the boy signed.

Kiol blinked and struggled between several different questions, but decided the reason for such a strange eating restriction was the least important at the moment.

“What's your name?”

“Nirin,” the boy spelled out. Then he signed in turn, “What is yours?”

Kiol didn’t want to answer that. His name was fairly well-known and if this kid found out who he was it could change everything. But perhaps he already knew. Kiol had to speak because the boy was barely looking at him and wouldn’t see any sign-speak, but he answered Kiol without hesitation and thus must not have been deaf. But why did he sign to begin with? Had he known Kiol was deaf? Was it that obvious from his voice, or had Nirin known who he was from the start? Was that what he’d meant by knowing him? But then why ask for his name? And why wasn’t he scared of him? Kiol’s head spun with the unknowns but only one question was needed to answer them all.

“You said you know me. How?”

“So you said too,” Nirin signed. “How do you know me?”

Kiol set his jaw and sat down. So maybe one question couldn’t answer them all, and now he was presented with another he didn’t want to explain. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Instead he said, “I can read lips. You don’t have to sign.”

Nirin tilted his head without lifting it from his knee and gave Kiol a silent look. Kiol couldn’t read anything in it, it was completely unassuming, unaffected, as though Nirin wasn’t reacting to his words at all and had only decided on his own whim to examine him. It wasn’t the same kind of stone-emotion as Ruadhan, nor his own aloof indifference. Because it wasn’t exactly emotionless; it was soft and natural and knowing. Kiol cleared his throat and shifted his weight.

“But we can,” he signed when he couldn’t stand the stare any more. “If you want.” Nirin didn’t respond, but he did look away and Kiol could breathe in peace again. After another prolonged silence Kiol said, “I found a place. Good for the night. I’ll carry you there.”

“And then what?” Kiol looked between the boy’s hands and side of his face. Nirin’s chin rested on his knee, staring at the stream turned glistening black in the night.

“Then I will come in the morning with more things. More food, clothes maybe.”

“It’s not sustainable," Nirin signed. Kiol opened his mouth, then closed it. “How long will my leg take to heal?” So he asked, but he did not wait for a response. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Kiol asked, and it was a genuine curious inquiry. Nevermind the boy’s thigh, even with a healthy body he didn’t exactly seem like the type able to fend for themselves in the wilderness. Then again he had moved without difficulty through the woods when Kiol chased him, betraying familiarity with the terrain, and the rebels didn’t know who he was meaning he had just been in the middle of the woods for unknown reasons. But his appearance and disposition really did not make sense for some forest hobo.

“In a way,” he signed.

“Are you…” Kiol began, but faltered. He did not want to ask. He didn’t want to know. He sighed. “I’ll take you to the cave first.” He cleaned up the food, quickly finishing off the meat since Nirin insisted he didn’t want it and that bowl of noodles had not been nearly enough food for him. He untied the water flask from his belt and made Nirin drink its entirety, then refilled it, reattached it, and scooped the boy up again. Once again those slender hands gripped his vest, almost like a reflex, and his mussed hair pressed close under Kiol’s chin. He held his head high away from it as he carried him.

Almost the same instant he was settled back on the ground, Nirin signed, “What happened to those people you took away?”

Kiol busied himself untying the flask again and setting it out and pretending to check the small rock cave for any dangers, though he had done that when he first found it.

“Safe here,” he said when he returned to the boy’s side. “I have to go now.”

“What happened to those people?” he signed again. It seemed unlike the other questions, he was not letting this one go unanswered.

Kiol sighed into his teeth. “In prison. Interrogated,” he signed.

“Tortured?” Nirin asked. Kiol said nothing. “Killed?” He said nothing. Nirin blinked down at his lap, but only for a second before signing, “Can you free them? If they are not already dead.”

“They’re rebels,” Kiol signed, to him all that was necessary as a response. But from Nirin’s look, it was not good enough.

“You can save them,” he signed. “Try.”

Kiol frowned at him. The only one he took orders from was Ruadhan. “No,” he said simply. Nirin frowned back, the closest to upset Kiol had yet seen, and for some reason the strange little pout sprouted a seed of guilt in his chest. Guilt? Guilt! Kiol couldn’t believe it— he hadn’t felt guilt since he was a young scolded child.

“Are they your people?” he asked, and his heart sped up, because he could very well get the answer he hadn’t wanted. But Nirin shook his head, and his anxiety faded away to annoyance. “Then why do you care?” he scoffed.

“Because they are people,” Nirin signed. Still looking at him. Still perceiving him with those big eyes. Kiol looked away.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he signed. “If you get cold, use leaves to cover you, don’t use the fronds outside, they will make you itch. Drink water. Don’t die.” And he left before the boy could say anything else.

He stopped in the armory when he got back to the martial temple. Every other time he was there it had been to request a specific weapon. So when he asked for a water flask the teller was genuinely surprised. “You lost yours?” he asked. Kiol never lost anything. It was almost a physical impossibility for him.

“Mm,” was all he replied. The teller blinked at him a few more times before retrieving one of the many spare flasks. Kiol took it and tied it to his belt immediately. If Ruadhan saw him he would notice anything else amiss, and Kiol really couldn’t explain two different missing items in one day.

He slept fitfully, and hungry. In the morning he changed into his training gear. He tried not to take too much extra food but he couldn’t help grab a few more sausages, knowing he wouldn’t eat another full meal until dinner. He scarfed down his breakfast and went to the morning training. It was a formality at this point; everyone knew he needed no more training, and even if he did, none of the soldiers there could offer enough of a challenge to learn anything. But the instructor liked to use him as both example and punishment for the newcomers, pitting him against any egos with an inflated sense of their competence. So he went on most days he didn’t have an assignment, since the instructor herself, as the instructor, was not allowed to unleash her full talent on the pupils. But as another pupil, Kiol could. Not that he unleashed any where near his full abilities. That would be murder.

Mid-day, he packed his meal into the boxes and again ate in his room, this time only eating the meat. Then he packed the rest, took two extra cloths, and returned to the armory, this time for a more usual request. A bow and arrows. Not only was the training grounds not equipped for archery, giving a perfect reason to slip outside the city to the makeshift archery range in the fields, Kiol himself was not well practiced in shooting and it was known. It was not strange at all for him to decide to remedy that. He was an expert in nearly every other form of combat.

He moved more carefully through the woods now. Nirin had been spot on, of course— this wasn’t sustainable in the least. He could not deprive himself of food and run away into the forest every single day for the next six-odd weeks. But hiding the boy there was just a temporary solution until Kiol thought of something else. He had to tell Nirin that. Should have told him that already so he wasn’t dreading living in a damp cave until late autumn. Of course, Kiol didn’t know how much of a comfort it was without an actual “something else” planned.

He sensed something was wrong within paces of the cave, even though he couldn’t see inside. He sprinted to the opening and sure enough, the boy was gone. Again.

He didn’t know quite what instinct had told him of this, but looking around he figured it out. The trail. From the disturbed earth and crushed foliage, Kiol saw two trails. Both from the same person. Meaning Nirin did not leave, someone else arrived. And when they left, their weight was significantly heavier.

Kiol investigated around the cave with much less precision than he was known for. His ‘much less’ was still greater than any normal perception anyway. Nirin had not been injured (more than he already was), and there was no sign of a struggle. That did not mean much though, Kiol thought, considering how Nirin had allowed himself to be moved around by him, a complete stranger who had attacked him, without a single complaint. What kind of idiot let anyone do to them as they pleased? But he wasn’t. Kiol knew that for certain. Nirin was no imbecile.

His water flask was no where to be found, which set Kiol’s heart thrumming with a different panic. If a soldier had found Nirin, and found the flask, and saw the treated wound, they would know a fellow soldier helped him. And the clues from there led swiftly and directly to him.

He tracked the exit trail for too long. It was not returning to the city, but going deeper into the woods. But it was already old and a little stale; if Kiol did not find the end of it today, he had no hope of continuing tomorrow. He followed it deeper into the forest until the sun slanted the shadows almost ninety degrees. It would be evening by the time he got back to the city gates, and he had to return before they were closed.

He gripped the bow so hard as he ran back that once in the farm fields it snapped in half. Great. The arms-keeper would not be happy. He was one of the few at the temple who did not care who Kiol was and would chew him out and punish him to an entire day of sharpening and polishing the weapons. More than that, though, in a pit that sunk deeper and deeper into his stomach the more he tried not to think of it, he hoped Nirin was alive. Was safe. By the direction of the trail it was not a soldier who had taken him, but Kiol couldn’t be sure. And anyways, the conclusion that a stranger with unknown intent had taken an attractive boy that _he_ had left crippled and defenseless was not in any sense of the word reassuring.


	4. Chapter Three

Kiol stepped into Ruadhan’s office and closed the door. The man didn’t look up from his writing. Kiol seated himself in front of the desk and waited. Another two minutes went by before Ruadhan finally set his pen aside and wordlessly handed the scroll he just finished across the desk. Kiol took it and read it over thrice, slower each time, memorizing the information, then he handed it back. Ruadhan rolled the scroll up and stuck it into the lantern flame. He twirled the burning paper slowly, his eyes never leaving the glowing line that spread up the roll and left only black crumbling ash in its wake.

“You will do this tonight,” he said. Kiol nodded. A much shorter deadline than usual, but nothing he couldn’t handle. “He will be in that room three hours after sunset. You will clean up after yourself.” Kiol nodded. Ruadhan waved his hand and Kiol stood, dipped his torso, and left.

The bustle of the food hall compared to the tranquil emptiness of Ruadhan’s quarters was annoying. Kiol put his meal into stack boxes and was about to retreat to his room when a skirmish at the other end of the large space drew his eye. He stopped and eyed the small gang of neophytes that had cornered a soldier he vaguely recognized. They were picking a fight with her, but it wasn’t much of a fight. Novices or not, it was nine against one.

Kiol was about to start walking out again when the same cornered soldier came into the hall right beside him. She paused, then burst into a run. Kiol’s eyes followed as she sprinted to her twin and immediately started throwing hands with the first of the gang that she reached. That was all the instigation needed; the jeering ended and a brawl began.

With a beleaguered sigh, Kiol set his food down and moved across the hall.

He pulled off the first neophyte and twisted his arm out of its socket as he threw him away. The second he knocked unconscious, the third he may have broken her leg, his bad, though it effectively incapacitated her. He tossed them all off until only the twins remained, backed up against the wall together and watching him throw aside their attackers, still in a fighting stance with fists raised. When he stopped at them and did nothing, they lowered their arms and both began talking at once. He couldn’t keep track of their lips so he turned away. A hand reached for him. He spun around, knife in grip, and the girl stopped. It was the twin who had started the fight.

“Thank you,” she said. He stuck his knife back into its sheath and shrugged.

Ordinarily, the guards would have stopped any fighting, especially in the common halls. But not for the sake of twins. If they weren’t enthusiastically watching, they at least weren’t going to risk misfortune by interacting on behalf of a Cursed Birth, so could only wait out the results. Kiol, on the other hand, didn’t give a rat’s ass.

“Why did you help?” she asked.

“It was annoying,” he said coldly, and left.

He waited until every last residue of sunlight was gone. Then he walked to Ruadhan’s quarters, nodding to the guard on duty as he stepped into the hall. He only went a little ways down it before hopping onto the open windowsill and climbing up to the roof from there.

Ruadhan always picked the best nights. Slim moon covered in swaths of thick cloud, making Kiol in his all-black garb near invisible as he moved swiftly across the rooftops of the city. It was a chilly night, but nothing too bad, and even if it was bitterly cold it wouldn’t have affected Kiol too much. When he had his mind on a mission, nothing could distract him. He ended on a rooftop that was lower than normal, but despite that it wasn’t obscured with shadow. No other buildings were built around it, because right beside it was the library.

Even with its ragged walls where the top half crumbled centuries ago, its previous splendor was easily imagined. It took up huge areas of both land and sky, its glittering stones burnt in places from fire but kept clean otherwise. Even the pathetic attempts to patch up holes and fill in the top with the dismal gray wood most buildings were made of did not detract from the image of grandeur. And no one dared to build near it. Even were it not an unspoken taboo to tarnish Creator’s visions with unworthy architecture, it was embarrassing to have your building in constant contrast with it.

The one exception here was the little house built beside the library in which the archivist lived. The man who kept surviving records and knowledge safe while slowly accumulating more. It was one of the highest positions in the city that was not a rank within the Society. Many wanted to take the position. Ruadhan certainly did not, and as far as Kiol knew had no reason whatsoever for wanting the man dead. But the reason didn’t matter. The order did.

He lowered himself to the top of a window emitting a faint glow. After a second he lowered his head and peered inside. The man was reading a scroll by candlelight. Almost as soon as Kiol looked in, though, he set the paper aside and brought the candle over to his bedside. Kiol lifted his head before he was seen. The light inside was snuffed out and the room cast in darkness. He looked in again. For anyone else the darkness would have been all encompassing and impossible to see through, but he saw the outlines of everything. It wasn’t as clear as with light, of course, but even the charms on the wall were visible to him, down to the protective runes written on them. Clearly those worked.

Just before he was about to flip in, the man sat up in his bed. Kiol shot back up to the window top and watched the room fill with light again. He crouched on the balls of his feet, ready to launch himself to the roof if he looked outside, but the light only drifted further away. It stopped while still in the room. After a while of silence, Kiol risked a glance. The man was back at the desk, at the scroll, only he was writing now instead of reading. Kiol stopped his annoyed sigh in his throat and forced his breaths to continue evenly through his nose.

He lowered himself easy and slow onto the sill, his eyes never leaving the target’s back. A thrown knife would be the easiest way, but Kiol didn’t resort to such tactics without dire need. It rarely killed the target quickly, giving them a chance to make noise, and it tended to leave more of a mess.

He crept closer, feeling the wood planks with his feet to be sure they wouldn’t creak before transferring his weight. He moved with glacial speed, patiently making his way closer. Just as he was within arm’s reach, the man turned around. In the split second as he was turning, Kiol had his dagger from his sheath and struck it through the target’s neck. It really was unfortunate that it was the most efficient way to kill and keep quiet, because Kiol hated the crunch he felt vibrate his hand as the blade went through cartilage and bone.

The archivist was still watching him calmly. Calm. Fearless. It brought another pair of eyes to Kiol’s memory and he stepped back involuntarily, leaving the knife. Blood dripped from the man’s mouth and stained his eyes. He turned, reaching under his desk and pulling out a short sword. Kiol jumped forward then. He didn’t draw any of his own blades to combat, the man was at death’s door, there was not much he could do that Kiol couldn’t counter. But instead of pointing it at him, the man pressed the dagger tip to his own heart.

He pushed it through shirt and skin, blood bubbling from his mouth as it opened in his moan of pain. Bone stopped him from piercing fully through. His chest sunk as he wheezed, drooping a little, and it took Kiol a second to realize he was gesturing for him. When Kiol didn’t move, the man calmly reached over and took his hand, guiding it over the other on the sword hilt.

Kiol pushed, his expression flat even as his mind turned over and over in confusion and horror, as he did as the man wished and cracked the sword through his chest to pierce his heart. He ripped the knife from the man’s neck and he collapsed off the chair, muscles twitching as his body gave in to eternity. Kiol stared down at him long after he was dead, mind reeling. None of his targets had ever done that. Even as their life bled out in seconds and their bodies refused to cooperate, they still struggled, still fought for life.

But it certainly made things easier.

It even did the clean up for him. The man used his own weapon, his own hand (because it was his hand, even if it was Kiol’s strength). His fingers were still curled around the hilt. Kiol thought about his calmness and his activities, and his eyes drifted to the scroll on the desk. The top of it was packed with writing, hard to read, a stark contrast to the clean, evenly spaced lines below. It immediately seemed off. He stepped up to the desk to read it.

There were two different handwritings at the top. The same one as below, then another scrawled between the lines of the first. Although clearly done in a hurry, and with a slight tremor, it was unmistakably the handwriting of someone who wrote for a living, legible and elegant.

It was not a suicide note. Damn. Kiol started to turn away but the words pulled him back and he read it more carefully, all the way through this time.

_You kill without question. Perhaps you should start. Why would Ru want me dead? I did my job too well. That is why. That is all. Is it worth death? Death is worth as much as the killer is willing to pay. What a shame Ru is my killer. I should not have taken those portraits from the Archbishop. If you can question, find the portrait in the library before_

Kiol had to read it twice, his mind going blank halfway through the first time. Was this directed to him? Who else could it be for? How did the archivist know? Maybe he didn’t know— he hadn’t mentioned Kiol by name. But he mentioned Ruadhan by name— sort of. No one ever called Ruadhan anything else, but the man had been short on time. Unless he hadn’t meant Ruadhan and thought a different “Ru” wanted him dead? The archivist position was particularly coveted and sought after. Kiol leaned his elbow on the desk and pressed his knuckles into his temple, trying to slow his dizzying thoughts. Was the archivist a rebel? Why would he let the last words of a rebel give him such grief?

Those calm eyes.

Not the archivist’s green ones. Nirin’s dark, gold-speckled ones.

“You can save them. Try.”

Kiol growled into his teeth and snatched up the scroll, rolling it and not caring if the ink wasn’t dry. He stuffed it into his belt, checked over the scene and righted some things, hid away some things, made it truly seem like an anguished suicide.

He stopped on the windowsill, poised to jump to the ground. He launched himself up to the roof instead and from there to the library.

He had only been to the library a few times before, and it was long ago. Back when he was a young boy and had just joined the Society’s soldier sect. All new recruits were used for various chores, so sometimes he had been sent to the library to bring back information. That was really the archivist’s main job; finding the scroll that held information a person wanted and copying it down on new paper for them to take along. It had been the same archivist he had just killed. Seeing the neophyte uniform of white, black, and red, people would often disregard them, but the archivist had always been attentive and kind. He had also mentioned being Ruadhan’s friend.

Kiol stopped just inside the window of the third floor. Ru. A nickname of familiarity and intimacy. When the archivist mentioned the friendship, all those years ago, Kiol had brushed it off. Even as an initiate it had been obvious that Ruadhan had no friends and the archivist was just exaggerating the relationship. But Ruadhan had known this man’s habits. Three hours after sunset. He had told Kiol all the information in order for him to get the job done immediately, when it was usually up to him to gather that information and make the plan.

Kiol hurried through the levels, past the endless shelves of scrolls, going down to the first floor as he wracked his brain for the memories. Portraits. Paintings. Where was art kept? He’d have to find the directory, and he didn’t know where that was either. Except—if they had just been obtained, the archivist likely hadn’t had time to catalog them. Which meant they would be in… storage? Kiol went to the cellar.

He dug through the huge crates there, with a carelessness that would make any archivist cringe. It was mostly scrolls, artifacts, antiques. He looked around. Even with his enhanced vision, the cellar was underground with no lights whatsoever, and he had to squint and guess what vague shapes were. He was looking for a bundle, anything that seemed like it could be a stack of paintings. It occurred to him then that that might have been the problem, looking for multiple paintings. He looked instead for what could be a single painting, and his eyes fell to what he had before thought was a shelf.

He fumbled in his pouch for a lighter and struck it for temporary light, holding the flame probably too close to the portrait to see. It was the Archbishop and Ruadhan.

The Archbishop was seated in a plain but grand chair and Ruadhan stood beside him just slightly behind, hands clasped dutifully behind his back. Both were straight-backed, their expressions severe, their faces youthful. It was a well-kept painting but must have been made long ago, because the Archbishop Kiol knew now had a face full of wrinkles and what little hair he had left was silver. Nothing like the smooth face and thick black hair the man in the painting had.

He examined every little detail he could before the flame hit the end of the match and he crushed it between his fingers to put it out. It was just a portrait. Maybe that was why the archivist was a target—he had simply gone mad and Ruadhan wanted it dealt with. Maybe it was even compassion for a suffering friend.

Kiol sighed and started back to the main floor, but a few steps up and a realization made his blood run cold. The Archbishop had looked fifty, sixty years younger in the portrait. Ruadhan had looked exactly the same.


	5. Chapter Four

Ruadhan’s office was the same as always. Stark, austere. In natural sunlight it just looked like a clean and orderly office, but with lantern light flicking dark shadows across the walls and ceiling, it felt ominous. Kiol was annoyed at himself. How often had he stood here in the middle of the night? He had never been bothered before.

“You’re later than usual. Was there a problem?” Ruadhan asked. Kiol shook his head.

“It is done. Suicide. Stabbed neck and heart.”

“Heart?” Ruadhan’s eyebrows rose. “That is unlike you.”

Kiol stared hard at him, examining his face, his body. He had convinced himself that he had just forgotten what Ruadhan looked like, had remembered him younger than he truly looked. But no. His face was smooth, only a few, faint wrinkles that any adult had. He did not look over thirty.

“He had a short sword,” Kiol said as way of explanation. No need to mention that he hadn’t attacked with it. He watched Ruadhan’s face not just for age, but for emotion. Any hint of regret that a friend was dead. But there was nothing. Of course there wasn’t. It was Ruadhan.

Ruadhan narrowed his eyes. “Sloppy is unlike you, too.” Years ago that would have felt like a harsh criticism, but Kiol had long since fallen out of his favor and knew it, and so the disappointed comments did not hurt much. Could never hurt as much as the rejection and isolation did before he became used to it.

“Well, we will see,” Ruadhan concluded, and waved his hand. Kiol walked out.

He stuffed the stolen scroll under his pillow right before his head hit the top, and he fell into deep sleep.

When he woke it was long past breakfast. He rolled over and blearily rubbed his eyes, then remembered. He shot upright, grabbing his pillow, and the scroll was still there. He read it over again. _Maybe you should start... If you can question…_

If you can question. If. A simple phrasing made him see red. He crumpled the paper and chucked it at the floor. Why did he read it like it was from those dark eyes? “Can you free them? If they aren’t already dead.” He leaned over his knees and gripped his head. 

He had tried for days, long after the trail vanished, to follow it further into the woods, to find out who had taken Nirin and where, but it was fruitless and he had given up. At the time stopping had seemed the only option, because it was obvious he wouldn’t get anywhere, but now almost three weeks later he was pissed at himself. Before, he had at least known where the trail went cold, he could have searched the vicinity more, had a slight chance of finding some other clue; he had had options but he told himself he didn’t! And now he truly didn’t.

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes. The other option, the option he always chose before, was to not care and not think about it. And he had tried. But he couldn’t do it this time. He couldn't forget Nirin. And that pissed him off, too. Who exactly was that stupid kid to have this affect on him?

He got dressed, then snatched the scroll from the ground and stuffed it into his vest. It was too late for breakfast but too early for mid-day, so he went to the common hall. When he was noticed, everyone inside stopped and looked at him. It was a place for socializing and chatting, with tables of various strategy games and a big hearth that warmed up the room on cold autumn mornings exactly like this one. Naturally it wasn’t a place Kiol went often. Or ever.

He sat down at a game of Sword Six and looked around the room. “No one playing?” he asked. The dozen or so soldiers there all looked at each other. After a drawn out moment, one of them stepped forward. The dangling gems from his rope belt were square and purple, marking him an intermediate. No one Kiol particularly recognized, but there was no doubt all intermediate soldiers knew him.

The man sat and tidied the board, pushing all the rounded-square pieces to their proper locations. Then he drew a card. Kiol did the same.

The paper was old and the painted image faded, but it was obvious enough what it was. A woman laying face-up on the ground, watching the clouds above, though the clouds were little more than streaks of blue anymore. Kiol examined the runes carved into the pieces before him. The card only allowed him to move a common one. He did so. His opponent moved another common, they set their cards face-down and each drew another.

Five turns in and Kiol had only drawn commoners. What bad luck. His opponent took his move, and for the third time, moved a rare. The chances of drawing three aristocrats or higher in a row was unlikely.

“Call,” Kiol said. His opponent’s eyebrows slid up, but he nodded. Kiol showed his commoner. His opponent rested his card down. An image of a darkened, contorted figure, seemingly in the throws of anguish, was painted on its surface. A cursed. Kiol really had bad luck. He took two commons off the board. But still, a cursed did not allow a move at all, and so his opponent had to take his piece off the board too. But one was still better than two lost pieces.

Everyone else in the room had gathered around the table, though a distance away, to watch. Kiol saw their lips moving, but when he glanced their way they quickly shut their mouths and he could not know what they said. It wasn’t until someone directly behind his opponent spoke that he could read.

“Ah, he’s not good at such games, who would have thought.”

He lowered his eyes back to the board and the aristocrat he had finally drawn, and moved a rare. He was close to one of his opponent’s pieces, next turn and he could probably capture it. Then he saw the man’s mouth move. He didn’t catch what he said, but there was only one thing he could have said. Kiol bit back an annoyed sigh and gave a nod, and the man showed his hand. A soldier with his sword proudly held aloft. A card that could move only commons, but beat every card except a cursed. Kiol dropped his aristocrat down onto the table and took his rare piece off the board.

The turns continued and slowly all of Kiol’s pieces were either captured or forced off the board. When he had none left, his opponent still had thirteen—he had only lost three.

Kiol didn’t need to read lips to know the surrounding audience were making remarks. “Wow, someone like him, so bad at this game.” “Who was intimidated by him? Hahaha…”

He gave a nod to his opponent and stood. The talkers all shut their mouths and moved back, making way for him, and he calmly walked from the room.

The food hall was just setting out the options. He grabbed a tray, loaded it, and took a seat. It was not long before others came and the place filled, but no one took a seat anywhere near Kiol, leaving him at the end of the long table. Halfway through his meal, two presences came beside him and didn’t continue on. He cast them a glance, gripping his chopsticks harder on instinct. The twins from before stood by his end of the table.

When he looked at them they seemed to take that as permission and they sat across from his seat. He eyed them, thoroughly annoyed.

“You don’t usually eat in the hall,” one of them said. Wearing the same training garb, with the exact same sharp features and light brown hair pulled back into buns, it was impossible to tell which was which. Not that Kiol knew either of them in the first place.

He continued eating without responding. They glanced at each other, and one cautiously picked up her utensils and began eating small bites. 

The other shrugged. “Just, no one usually sits down here with us.”

He stopped with his food almost to his mouth. So, it was like that. Here he was thinking they were encroaching on his personal space, when he was the one who had taken their seats. He put his food back down on the tray and stood. The same soldier held out a hand as though to stop him, though she didn’t dare touch him. “No, really, it’s okay. You can sit.”

The other glanced up shyly. “We can be the ones to move,” she said. Her sister elbowed her and she raised her shoulders, giving a look back.

Kiol looked blandly between the two of them, then sat again. “S’fine,” he muttered, and continued eating. Really, the reason he was eating in here was because all the movement and commotion was a distraction, and that was all he wanted. To not think about that boy. To not think about that portrait. Not think about Ruadhan.

They ate in silence for a good while. Just as he was about finished, one of them spoke again and he looked up, only catching the tail end of what she said and so without context unable to understand at all. They were watching him expectantly. He just stared back.

“For yesterday.”

He continued staring. They looked at each other and the more talkative one seemed like she was trying to mentally nudge the other with her eyebrows. The shy one turned to him with a forced smile.

“I can make charms. I’m quite good at it.” He narrowed his eyes. Charms were made by disciples, not soldiers, and certainly not by a twin. And was she offering to make some for him? How stupid.

Supposedly, charms were calls to Creator. Charms that she alone heard and blessed from wherever she was hiding, bestowing her love and mercy upon her children even as she was too heartbroken to face them. If a charm didn’t work it was because the disciple was not faithful enough, or because Creator deemed the holder unworthy of whatever was asked. That Creator was simply not there was never a conclusion.

Of course, Kiol knew that Creator was in a prison of her own making and couldn’t do anything, let alone bless some hundreds of charms made every day.

“No thanks,” he said. He picked up his tray and walked off.

He dressed himself in the one civilian outfit he owned, still muted colors of cream and brown, and went into the city. He wandered the quieter streets near the temple for a bit before making up his mind to go to the market district. He hated the market district. There were shops in quieter parts of the city that sold anything he could need; the market district was like a free-for-all of vendors. Not just stores but carts lined the streets, buskers took up any extra space, and there was always a crowd pushing against each other from every which way. The senses were bombarded with every type of color, texture, shape, or smell imaginable. Kiol could well remember the nonstop ruckus too, and could almost hear the echoes of it in his ears as he wandered.

He shoved through the crowded and twisted streets with no destination in mind. His annoyance took up most of his attention and in that way somehow he was happy.

There was a particularly large crowd at one end of a street, but surprisingly they weren’t all jostling each other. They stood watching something against the wall. Kiol saw them leaning in to talk to each other, meaning they didn’t even want to raise their voices. And whatever it was, was drawing even more people over. From the looks of it, Kiol thought it was something they were hearing, but even he felt a strange pull to this type of crowd that he would normally avoid under any circumstance.

He stepped up and did what no one else dared to, shoving through the people to get further in and see.

Sitting cross-legged on a straw mat, eyes closed, elegant fingers dancing across a bamboo flute—the picture of serenity—was Nirin.


	6. Chapter Five

Almost the exact second Kiol reached the inner edge of the crowd, Nirin’s eyes flicked open and caught his gaze. Any doubts Kiol might have had about it not really being who he thought was dashed at that stare. At those eyes. The boy kept playing without missing a beat, dark, gold-specked eyes locked on him. Kiol didn’t know whether to be angry or surprised or confused, but he wished he could pick one so all three would stop warring inside his head.

The slender fingers stopped their dance and the flute lowered. Nirin stood languidly and pressed his palms together to offer the crowd a few bows of gratitude as they tossed coins and even paper money onto the cloth laid on the ground. Not an insignificant amount of money. It must have been a good show. Kiol’s anger found a direction— at these strangers who could hear Nirin’s skill and he couldn’t.

Some went up to speak to Nirin after the crowd dispersed, all women, and to whoever was speaking Nirin listened intently and seriously, giving them his full attention. They didn’t seem to think anything was wrong with patting his arms and playing with his long hair, like he was some sort of doll that could be fondled without concern.

Kiol shouldered the woman away and they stumbled back, shocked, then upset. He ignored their twisted expressions and unreadable complaints. “Go away,” he said, blocking them from moving closer again. “Go away.”

No matter what, even though he wasn’t wearing his soldier uniform, with his aura the women knew better than to keep insisting. They muttered to themselves and stalked off.

Kiol turned to Nirin, hands trembling with anger as he signed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Nirin glanced around, almost like he was confused and double-checking his surroundings. “Working,” he signed, and crouched to gather up the cloth. When he stood again he noticed Kiol’s wide eyes and tilted his head.

“Your leg,” Kiol signed. “Your… your injury!”

“It’s fine now.”

“It can’t be!” He grabbed Nirin’s shoulder to turn him around, prodding without thinking at the thigh. Nirin stood there patiently even after Kiol realized what he was doing and let him go in haste. Quite a few people in the passing crowd were giving them looks and Kiol glared at them so they turned their eyes away.

Nirin tied the cloth into a pouch and then tied the pouch to the sash inside his robe. He was wearing different clothes now, a dark and light green long-tunic with yellow embroidered accents and a yellow waist sash, all covered by an opened purple outer robe. Once again it looked like too fine of fabric for the context he was in— it wasn’t ridiculously fancy but it wasn’t coarse and simple either like other street busker’s clothing. Even with the abnormal amount of money given to him, it wasn’t enough to cover the price of basic living and such clothes.

Nirin tucked his flute into his sash and rolled up the straw mat. Kiol stopped him from walking away. “Where are you going?”

“Food,” he signed. “Do you want to come? I have money now.” Kiol looked at him. Someone who had to entertain a street crowd for money shouldn’t have been offering to buy another person’s meal.

“I’ll pay,” he said gruffly. “Where do you want to go?”

Nirin started walking again and Kiol followed. After a few steps he remembered with a start and grabbed the boy’s arm to get his attention. “Hey, where the hell did you go before? Who took you away from the cave?!”

Nirin blinked back at him but didn’t stop walking. He lifted his hands, but hesitated. It seemed unbecoming of him. “A friend,” he signed at last.

“How did they know where you were?”

“I told them.” Kiol squinted but couldn’t question further because Nirin stopped walking and gestured to a food cart. It looked almost rundown, made with sagging planks of wood and the painted sign on the front was faded and scratched beyond recognition. It was so far at the end of the market district that no other vendors were around, yet even without competition no one was giving them business. “Let’s eat here.”

Kiol eyed the old woman stooped over a small fire and roasting some vegetables. She didn’t look very clean, and neither did the food. But he nodded consent and Nirin walked up.

The grandma peered up at them as they came over. After some squinting she broke into a mostly-toothless grin. “Ah, it’s you! I was worried when you hadn’t come in so long.” Kiol actually had trouble reading her words when she had so few teeth. He had to fill in from context more than usual.

Nirin nodded and patted his torso reassuringly. Then he pointed to what she was cooking and tilted his head.

“Ah, yes, yes, I will wrap you some. Do you want the same amount as usual?” Nirin nodded and the woman dug under her cart to pull out a burlap sack. It was hard to discern with its brown color, but Kiol was fairly certain it was as dirty as the rest of the stall. The woman gathered up not just what had been out for display on her cart, but everything that was cooking over the fire too. She tied it all up in a bundle and handed it over.

Nirin reached for his pouch but Kiol stopped him. “I said I’d pay,” he reminded him. Nirin shook his head and gently pried the hand from his arm. It was the first time he had actively resisted anything Kiol did and he was too surprised to stop the boy as he untied his entire pouch and dropped it into the woman’s gnarled hands. Then he took the burlap sack, bowed to her, and walked off.

Kiol stood in disbelief for a moment longer before hurrying after him. “That was all your money!”

Nirin nodded.

“Surely some unseasoned vegetables aren’t worth so much?!” He had to switch to signing to say such long things, so he made sure he was striding nearly in front of the boy. “They didn’t even look fresh!” Nirin just blinked at him. Kiol stared back, anger choking his muscles again, and he stepped in front of him to make him halt.

“Does your ‘friend’ live in the city?”

Nirin shook his head, which Kiol had expected. From where the trail went it wouldn’t have made sense. But then again, very few things seemed to make sense whenever Nirin was involved.

“Where are you staying?” he signed. “It’s getting late. Let’s go back first.”

Nirin glanced around. “These streets are quiet,” he signed. It took Kiol a second to realize that that was his answer.

“The streets?!” he exclaimed, louder than he’d said anything in a long time. He bit his lips and returned to signing furiously. “You’ll sleep on the streets? Why did you give all your money to that grandma? It could have bought a couple nights at an inn!”

“She needs nights at an inn more than me,” Nirin replied, not at all put off by Kiol’s anger. He patted the straw mat under his arm. “I can sleep anywhere.”

Kiol grabbed his arm and Nirin followed along peacefully as he dragged him down the street while berating him. “What’s wrong with you, kid? You can’t sleep on the street! Look at you! You’ll be mugged or worse.” He dragged him back through the stalls of fabric and tools, spices and trinkets. He plowed easily through the crowd, even pissing off some people. He didn’t stop until he was in the emptier streets, not by the temple but still in the northern section where vendors weren’t allowed.

The inn was spacious and comfortable. The front room was filled with patrons but still didn’t seem crowded. Kiol brought Nirin to the desk and dug into his pocket to grab some money and slap it down. “One room.”

The attendant nodded graciously and scooped up the paper, jotting down in a journal. Then he looked back up to ask, “Two beds or one large, sir?”

Kiol startled, and took a second to reply. “No, not two, just for him.” He pointed at Nirin standing complacently beside him. The attendant nodded and jotted something else down. Then he counted out Kiol’s money and gave him some coins in change.

Kiol looked at the coins on the counter, then turned to Nirin. “How long are you staying in the city?”

“Perhaps… three or four days.”

Kiol pushed the coins back to the attendant and added more money. “Four nights. And…” He looked sternly at Nirin. “If you need a place to stay, come to this inn.” He looked back to the attendant. “Whenever he stays, just charge it to Kiol in the soldier sect.”

The man’s hand fumbled at the name and he tried to recover smoothly but Kiol had noticed anyway. “Of course, sir,” he said, and tucked away the money. “~~~ will take the young sir to his room.” He gestured to a woman and she hurried over, leaning in to listen to him speak in her ear. Then she smiled sweetly at Nirin and gestured for him to go with her. When Kiol followed along as well she paused.

“Oh… Boss assigned wrong, there is only one bed.” She looked to the attendant but Kiol spoke before him.

“One bed is fine,” he said. “I am only visiting right now. Am I not allowed?” He didn’t turn around, but from the girl’s expression, the attendant was making some wild gestures. She quickly donned another bright smile.

“Of course! Of course, sir, yes. Feel free to visit any time.” And she led them up the floor.

She slid open the door and bowed out of the way as they stepped inside. She spoke but her face was to the ground so when she looked up Kiol just stared blankly at her. Nirin signed by his side, “If we need anything we can visit the desk or ring the bell.” Kiol glanced at the small service bell mounted just outside the room, with a string for ringing pulled through the wall and dangling inside.

The woman was looking at them strangely after Nirin’s gestures. The general public didn’t know Kiol was deaf and he preferred it that way. He pushed Nirin behind himself. “Fine,” he told the lady. She forced another smile, gave another bow, and shut the door.

When Kiol turned around, Nirin had already laid down his straw mat on the floor and his sack of vegetables onto the table. Kiol watched him sit without any issues and still couldn’t believe his leg was already healed. He had made and then dressed that wound himself and he knew it would take at least six weeks to heal to a functional degree. Not half that time and it seemed to be negligent. It was physically impossible.

Nirin reached into the sack and pulled out a roasted carrot. Kiol grabbed it inches from his mouth and chucked it back with the others. “Don’t eat that.”

Nirin still had his fingers next to his mouth. He lowered his hand and peered up at Kiol, tilting his head.

“It’s dirty,” he said, sitting down heavily before switching to sign-speak. “We’ll get food here. It’s a nice inn, they’ll have good food.”

“I don’t eat meat,” Nirin reminded him. “These places always serve meat or something made with meat. My vegetables are fine.”

“You’ll get sick if you eat those.”

“I won’t. I’ll get sick by eating here.” Nirin picked up a small tomato and popped it into his mouth. Kiol watched in disgust but didn’t want to keep arguing over it.

“Who is your friend?” Kiol signed. “How did you tell them where you were?”

Nirin paused in chewing a pepper. He seemed to contemplate seriously for a bit, slowly returning to eating. “I made a charm,” he finally signed.

“You what?” Kiol asked out loud, voice even flatter than usual. It was clearly a lie, and yet for some reason Kiol didn’t think Nirin would lie.

“Not those trinkets,” Nirin signed. “It's not exactly a charm like you know.” He ate another veggie, face serious as he thought some more. “A rune seal,” he finally signed, as though that was any more logical an explanation. Kiol stared at him blankly. He just stared back, his expression in that pleasant smile-not-smile.

“A rune seal?” Kiol signed after it seemed Nirin would not elaborate on his own.

“Rune seals are what go on charms,” the boy signed. “But they don’t have to.”

Kiol scoffed. “I know what a rune seal is,” he signed back. “They’re useless, just like charms are useless. How does that explain anything?”

“Not useless. But you have to make it with blood.”

Kiol was stuck in place. Nirin casually reached inside the sack to continue eating. He got through another three mouthfuls before Kiol collected his mind again. “Blood?” he signed. Nirin nodded. “Is that why you took the knife out?” Another nod. Kiol pressed his forehead into his hand and closed his eyes. This kid…

“Hey!” The exclamation made Nirin’s gaze snap up, the closest to startled Kiol had seen. He pointed his finger at the boy. “You could have died! Don’t do that again!”

“I will not if you don’t throw a knife at me again,” Nirin signed, which shut Kiol up immediately. He pressed his lips together, but Nirin didn’t seem to mean it sarcastically, looking at Kiol in earnest.

“I’m…” Kiol started, but he couldn’t finish. He shook his head and sighed. “Hey,” he signed this time, Nirin was already looking at him and he didn’t need to get his attention. “Don’t let people just touch you like that, okay? I mean, me too…” He sighed again, irritated at himself, or Nirin, or both, or maybe just everyone. “But those women on the street, too. They shouldn’t touch you like that.”

“Oh, they didn’t mean anything by it,” Nirin signed cheerfully. “They weren’t going to hurt me.” Another pang in his chest, though Kiol was sure Nirin didn’t mean to remind him that _he_ had hurt him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he signed forcefully. “Don’t let strangers just do whatever to you. How old are you that you don’t know that? Geez…” He muttered the last word out loud, thoroughly annoyed.

Nirin only watched him like usual. After a stretch of silence, he tied up the sack.

“Sorry for all this trouble,” he signed. “I know you only want to help me.” Kiol huffed a breath, wishing he wouldn’t say it like that. He wasn’t _helping_ him he was only… Ah, shit. Nirin was looking at him again and when he met the boy’s gaze it was like someone wrapping a warm blanket around his shoulders. Kiol felt a pit he had long since closed off opening in his stomach. “Thank you,” Nirin signed, a genuine smile on his lips.

Kiol looked away, tempering the emotions welling inside him and keeping his face straight. “Better go,” he muttered. “Getting late.” He stood, digging out the last money in his pouch and putting it on the table. It didn’t matter, it was a drop in the bucket of all the money he had accumulated over the years. “Buy some real food tomorrow.” He left without looking at the boy, but somehow knowing that profound gaze was on his back.

Kiol walked through the dusky training grounds, still aggrieved. Still seeing—no, _feeling_—that boy’s gaze. He stared at the ground as he walked, clenching and unclenching his fists.

A sense of movement drew his eye to the fields. One of the instructors stood cross-armed by an obstacle course that a figure was struggling through. The figure’s face was paled and bun disheveled, but even at the distance and with the encroaching darkness, Kiol recognized her.

So that was how he recognized the twin the other day, too. All of the soldiers were just nameless, faceless beings to him, he only bothered to look at their uniform and belt to determine their status because it would predict how they’d react to him. It was strange for him to know one more than any other, but he remembered now. He often got back to the temple late, and many times saw this same scene. Whenever a soldier was unsatisfactory, they were forced to stay behind and redo the training until the instructor was satisfied. Usually only one or two times was enough for soldiers to wise up and try their hardest from then on to give exemplary performances, but this girl… Kiol couldn’t count the amount of times he’d seen her out here. Because he had never kept track, of course, but he also knew it was an uncountable number.

Despite the twins being indistinguishable from one another, Kiol knew which this one was. It wasn’t hard to know. He vaguely wondered where the confident twin was, whether this bothered her. He shook the thoughts from his mind, annoyed that he was considering some random soldier’s feelings. He didn’t care. He didn’t care!

He locked himself in his room and reached under his pillow for the scroll. His hand grasped air. He flung the pillow off and the mattress was empty. He searched around the bed, dug into the pillow case, looking everywhere, even places it couldn’t have randomly fallen to. It was gone. Someone had taken it.

That anyone would dare enter his room in the first place was one thing, but to take something from it as well? But there hadn’t been any signs of entry. Even if someone had managed to avoid leaving physical traces—a strand of hair, the slightest misplace of his pillow, Kiol would have discovered—there would be the unfamiliar smell of another person still hanging in the air. There was only one person Kiol could never detect.

He sank onto the bed, staring at the opposite wall of his small, empty room. A lot of soldiers had no family to bother with putting up ancestor tapestries but even still, they hung charms or decorations on the wall space by their beds. Kiol had nothing. He had a whole room to himself and it held only a wardrobe, a chair, a writing desk, and a bed.

He couldn’t know what Ruadhan’s reaction was going to be. How long had he known the man? Kiol didn’t know how old he was when he joined the sect, but he had been young—perhaps six or seven. So he’d known him at least fifteen years, had worked more closely with Ruadhan than any other person besides the Archbishop, and yet he still could never determine what the Temple General would do in situations. When Kiol expected punishment, Ruadhan would sometimes reward him. When he expected satisfaction, the man would sometimes criticize him.

That he had taken a scroll from a target and hidden it away, hadn’t informed Ruadhan when it directly involved him, would he be angry? Would he be pleased? Kiol could not imagine why he would be the latter, but there were plenty of times Ruadhan had been glad when any normal person would be upset. The time Kiol broke Ruadhan’s personal, favorite sword came to mind.

He sat and stared at the wall for a long time. It was well past dinner when he finally dragged himself up and out the door. The walk to Ruadhan’s quarters was somehow both more arduous and far shorter than it had been any time before.


	7. Chapter Six

Ruadhan sat at his desk, hands resting on its surface as though he had been waiting like that for hours. He didn’t move until Kiol closed the door. That was when he raised a hand and gestured to the chair before him. His face was expressionless as always: not happy, not upset. Stone.

Kiol took the seat. He kept his face neutral, but in comparison to Ruadhan’s eyes of steel it felt like a childish ploy.

“Did you find the portrait?” Ruadhan asked. Kiol nodded. “Did you think on what it could mean?”

Kiol hesitated, then signed, “I try not to think at all.” Ruadhan preferred speech, and he would never sign himself, but Kiol knew he could understand sign-speak and he didn’t trust his voice in that moment.

“But clearly you did,” Ruadhan replied. “You did think, and you acted. So tell me what you think now.” He still hadn’t moved, expression or body, and of course Kiol couldn’t hear his tone, but he could tell from the words alone that Ruadhan was pissed. Relief bloomed a little in his chest. He knew where he stood now, at least.

“I think…” he signed. “I think you are not who you say you are.”

“Then who am I?”

Kiol shrugged. “Creator? Envier? Someone else?” He shrugged again. “It does not matter to me. You are Ruadhan, Temple General. Leader of Soldiers.”

Ruadhan watched him for longer than usual. Kiol tried to read his eyes. Did they soften? No, it must have been a trick of the light. “Are you not curious?” Ruadhan finally asked, after at least a minute of silence.

Kiol spoke now. “As I said, sir, I try not to think.”

Ruadhan tapped the fingers of one hand on the desk, then rose and walked around it. Kiol stayed sitting even as Ruadhan came to stand beside him, arms crossed. He looked up at his shaded face.

“Have you lost faith in me?”

Kiol stared forward again, but he did not dare keep his gaze away for long. If Ruadhan spoke he wanted to know what he said. But he didn’t speak. He stood and watched Kiol, eyes shaded from emotion or light, waiting patiently.

“Sir…” Kiol began. He faltered, then lifted his chin high and met Ruadhan’s stare. “I lost faith in you long ago. As you did me.” They stared at each other, neutral, as though the air were not snapping with tension around them. After a long few minutes, Ruadhan turned away and walked to the window. He looked outside at the thin tree scraping the wall, its scraggly branches holding only a few tufts of golden leaves, still clinging to the remaining days of autumn. In the moonlight, framed by the dark walls around the window, the man looked even paler. He stood there, hands clasped behind his back. Kiol wondered if he was dismissed, but just as he wondered, the man turned again.

“I never lost faith in you, Kiol,” he said, slow and careful. “That you have for me, fine. But why then obey my orders?”

“Because you are the general,” Kiol replied without missing a beat.

“You have plenty of money. You have skill and experience. You could have left this life long ago. You could leave now. Will you leave the temple when I dismiss you from this office tonight?”

“No, sir.”

Ruadhan’s face was even more shadowed with the backdrop of the window behind him. Kiol saw anyway, and was surprised Ruadhan came close to looking pensive. “Then you trust my orders?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Ruadhan nodded slowly, moving just as slowly back to his seat. When he sat, straight and tall as always, his gaze had hardened once more. “And the orders I give now, you’ll obey them?” Kiol nodded. Ruadhan folded his hands together on the desk. “Good. Then these are your orders. That boy you were with today—follow him.” Kiol’s heart seized and lunged into his throat. Ruadhan noticed him stiffen and raised a thin eyebrow. Somehow, it only added to the stoniness of his expression. “So you won’t obey?”

Kiol summoned all of his willpower to keep his voice steady. “I will.” Ruadhan nodded and raised a hand, but before he was dismissed Kiol continued. “Is he a rebel, sir?”

“No,” Ruadhan replied easily, but the short drop of relief did not last long. “He is worse. He is trying to rebuild the Cult of Envy.”

Kiol’s heart dropped to the floor. It was not shock of this news, but despair that Ruadhan knew Nirin was a cultist. Because him knowing meant Nirin’s death.

“Follow him and find out where the base is.”

“And when I do?” Kiol signed.

“You will report everything back to me, of course.” Ruadhan saw Kiol’s hesitation. “The boy will not be killed. You can personally ensure that. But—do not meet with him again until he has led you where we need. He will know something is wrong if you do.”

“He might know something is wrong if I don’t,” Kiol signed.

Ruadhan narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said, and Kiol saw the force behind the word even if he couldn’t hear it. “It is riskier to show yourself. These are my orders. Trust them.”

Kiol swallowed. Nodded. Ruadhan waved his hand in dismissal. Kiol stood and was almost to the door when he turned back. “Sir?” Ruadhan glanced up. “Was the archivist a rebel?”

Ruadhan smiled, then. It was a rare sight, but it was not a smile of joy. It was calculating, unfeeling. “No,” he said. “He was a friend.”

Kiol trailed Nirin in the shadows for three days. He didn’t do much. He played his flute on the street for money, bought food with it, wandered around without going into any buildings or meeting anyone. Kiol was worried he would sleep on the streets, but he did always return to the inn at night. Ironically, Kiol did sleep on the streets to stay close. He was used to it though, and it wasn’t like he had to fear being taken advantage of.

On the fourth morning Nirin left the inn and headed straight for the city gates. Kiol lingered in the crowd of people leaving, never letting Nirin out of his sight until the crowd became too dispersed to stay hidden. Then he let the boy get a lead on him and followed by scent. He walked for a long time down the forest road, turning onto a smaller path, and then a trail. From a point on the trail he veered into the woods. Then there was no path at all, just underbrush and rough terrain.

As night began to fall, Kiol expected Nirin to stop for the night. He moved more cautiously. But the trail kept going, and going, even when the moon had hit the tops of the trees. In the distance he saw a light, but it wasn’t the flickering light of campfire. He stopped at the edge of the tree line and stared. 

On an island in the center of a large pond was a cottage. Kiol wasn’t sure if that was really the correct term for it. It was small, but it was built beautifully with white stones purer than Kiol had ever seen before, and a shingle roof of black stone. Stretching across the pond to reach it was a long bridge of gray-wood with golden-lit lanterns set into the posts along its length.

The light from the cottage was soft and gentle, but it had been enough to see from a distance. That this place existed just a day’s walk from the city and no soldier had found it on their tours of the woods was astounding.

Kiol crept along the ground to the bridge, then flipped himself below it. Like a bug on the ceiling he crawled hand-over-hand along the bottom of it, fully swathed in its shadows. When he reached the island he crept along the ground, out of view of the windows, and climbed easily onto the roof. It was the best way to look inside, because if anyone glanced at the window, their eyes naturally fell to the middle or bottom of it, not the top, and gave him time to move. It was also ground advantage if he needed to fight or flee.

He lowered his head down and peered inside the first window. A small fire was in a hearth, surrounded by sitting cushions, but no one else was in the room. He made his way to the back. There appeared to be only the two rooms, and the back room was a small kitchen. Kiol didn’t know a single other building that had two rooms-- if it had to have two, it would have three. The people inside the kitchen both had their backs to the window. There was no hearth in here, it was lit by the steady glow of some paper lamps that were resting on shelves. Nirin stood in the center of the room, signing, though Kiol didn’t know how that was working when the other person wasn’t even looking at him. They were at the counter, chopping vegetables and adding them to a pot. From their figure, clothes, and hair, Kiol guessed they were female. Like Nirin she wore nicer robes, but then again one must have been fairly wealthy to afford such a well-made home in the middle of the woods, regardless of its size.

He doubted this was the Cult base. It was too small, too close to the city and main Society Temple, and too conspicuous. The base he had infiltrated years ago had been hidden underground, crudely carved from dirt and built with scrap wood. It had long been burnt down and then forcefully caved in, so it wasn’t like Kiol thought they would be in the same spot, but. This homely cottage was too far off the mark. And it was on an island, so it couldn’t even be hiding any large system beneath it.

The woman at the counter turned and Kiol was a fraction of a second from vanishing back up to the roof when the familiarity of her features froze him in place. And in that fraction of a second, without any pause as though she turned specifically to see Kiol, he met the gaze of the Cult Leader. The woman he had killed six years ago.


	8. Chapter Seven

Shock weakened his muscles. A split second after their eyes met he toppled head first to the ground. Ignoring the pain and dizziness he shot back up to his feet, sword in hand. On the other end stood Nirin, gripping the windowsill, half-leaned over it to see Kiol before he had jumped back up.

It was familiar, too familiar a scene; staring down the wide, dark eyes at the end of his blade. Kiol dropped his arm back to his side like it was suddenly made of stone. The Cult Leader continued to stand by the counter, wiping her hands on a towel and watching the two like she was watching a conversation between friends. Kiol took a step back and Nirin waved his hands in panic for him to stop, so Kiol froze again. When Nirin pointed he followed the finger to the ground and saw that below his feet, already slightly trampled, was a vegetable garden.

Kiol stared at it. And couldn’t stop staring. His mind seemed to have given up working. A vegetable garden. He was facing a person whose life he had brutally ended, who had created the most dangerous regime in the world, who was talking jovially with a boy Kiol knew but didn’t know and inexplicably needed to know, and he was worried about stepping on some plants.

He looked back up, mouth and lips dry. The Cult Leader offered him a smile. It was warm, caring, sweet. “Why don’t you come in, Kiol?”

Nirin was still leaning out the window looking at him, but his eyes told Kiol nothing. He looked worried, but that was leftover concern about his fall.

Careful to avoid the rows of vegetables, Kiol walked around to the door at the back of the cottage. The woman was already there, holding it open. She looked exactly as Kiol remembered. Curly hair tied back but still unruly, full-figured, and as tall as Kiol—an impressive height for a woman even if not for a man. She raised a palm before he came closer and looked pointedly at the sword still in his hand. He also glanced down at it, then reluctantly put it away. She had no weapons on her person and save for the kitchen knife he didn’t think the room held anything either. But she had been a hard match for him and, unlike almost every other person Kiol met, he had doubts he could take her without a weapon in hand. But she didn’t insist he give up his weapon belt and moved aside for him to enter.

Nirin was at his side immediately, which for some reason made Kiol feel better. He shook it away and stayed on guard, warily watching the Cult Leader shut the door and go back to the counter. She lifted the pot and brought it into the other room. After some time, when she hadn’t returned, Nirin’s fingers wrapped around Kiol’s wrist. The touch and chill startled him, and he looked down. Instead of being amazed like he should have been that someone other than Ruadhan had surprised him like that, Kiol only felt concern. He pressed his other hand over Nirin’s.

“Cold,” he said, brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Nirin smiled and nodded. Keeping hold of his wrist, he led Kiol into the other room. For some reason Kiol kept his hand covering that delicate one, though it had already warmed up from his body heat.

The cult leader knelt by the hearth, stirring the pot that she had set over the fire. It was such an innocent picture that it unnerved Kiol all the more.

The last time he had seen her she had been collapsed on the ground, an arm cut off, her sliced stomach staining the floor with blood and organs. Now she was before him like none of it had happened, equipped with both arms and, Kiol assumed, all her organs. She said something Kiol didn’t catch and Nirin’s fingers loosened. Kiol caught his hand, keeping it in place before the boy could break away. Nirin looked up at him but before Kiol had a chance to think about his own actions, let alone explain them, Nirin smiled and patted his arm with such caring reassurance Kiol let him go just to put an end to that.

Nirin took the woman’s place by the fire while she faced Kiol. Her hands moved. She knew sign-speak. Of course.

“Does your head hurt?” she signed. It did, but Kiol said nothing, did nothing. He watched her without reaction. “I can make it better,” she continued.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, voice level, unaffected. She nodded, lifting her palms to show that she would listen.

“I know you must have questions—”

“No,” Kiol interrupted. She stopped and blinked at him.

After some consideration she started again. “You gifted your hearing to the remnant.” He clenched his jaw at that. The only ones who knew were Ruadhan, the Archbishop, and himself. But apparently, also her. His eyes swept subconsciously to Nirin. “He knows,” the cult leader signed, drawing his eyes back. He narrowed them at her. “As I’m sure you know by now, have known, that he is the one who gifted his voice.”

“And?” Kiol asked, steadying his expression back to disinterest.

“A voice. The second to last sacrifice. What was the last?”

A life. Kiol had taken many that day. But from his understanding, they had to be near the remnant in order to gift it. He had been in every room of that base and there hadn’t been any statue. The woman seemed to read his mind.

“The last gift did not have to be given directly like the others. Without your help it may not have been given at all.”

Kiol scoffed and turned away. “You’re wasting my time.” Before he could return to the kitchen, something was thrown at him. He spun and caught it between three fingers. It was a dagger. But the woman stood in the same spot, arms crossed, not a hint of violent aura about her. He looked closer and his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t _a_ dagger. It was _his_ dagger. The one she had broken in their fight—not just broken, but shattered. It was not something that could be fixed, but even the rune seals on the blade were the same. _Fate - Break - Soul._ It had been his favorite companion that he had trained thousands of hours with, had fiddled with in his boredom, had meticulously cleaned every night. He would know a replica from the real thing. This was not a replica.

“How?” he asked.

“You’re missing a crucial piece of information, Kiol,” she said. “Something that you haven’t thought to question.” His eyes widened involuntarily. _If you can question._ He grit his teeth as the woman continued, “Or perhaps you had, and just didn’t want to. You know both Creator and Envier were turned into remnants. Did you really not doubt, not for a second, whether the one below the Society temple is Creator? That you hadn’t been lied to?” Kiol took deep, even breaths through his nose, watching her, face flat. “That remnant, the one you gifted your hearing to, is Envier. But you knew that this whole time, didn’t you?”

Kiol stayed still and silent, as though if he didn’t move this reality would somehow pass by him and he wouldn’t have to face it.

“You also helped gift the last sacrifice, Kiol, and now I’ve woken.”

He blinked and lifted his gaze to her face. He stood, and she stood, watching each other. If she was looking for a reaction she would be disappointed. But inside his head he struggled to hold on to sanity and reason.

“Why should I believe you?” he finally signed.

“Is my standing here before you not enough?” He shook his head and she puffed a laugh. “Very well.” She drew something from her pocket. In the glimpse Kiol got he thought it was a ball of clay, but he couldn’t be sure. She pressed her other hand over the top, her face growing solemn as she concentrated. She pulled her hands apart and the clay grew with them, but she was not pulling on it—and it was no longer clay. It was… stone. A glittering brick of gold-speckled red stone, the very kind Creator had made so many buildings from before she vanished and took the material with her.

The woman held it out. Kiol paused, not a hesitation so much as a drawn out resistance, before he stepped closer to take it. It was heavy and large, the length of his forearm. He had watched closely and it hadn’t been some street trick. Those never fooled him anymore.

“Ruadhan is trying to awaken Envier. I can’t let that happen.”

“Why?” Kiol asked, still inspecting the stone, but he kept an attention on her hands. He saw her pause, likely trying to figure out which statement he had questioned. She settled on answering both.

She signed, “If Envier wakes I need not tell you the destruction that will fall onto humanity. You, your society, all your creations, will be wiped out. As to why Ruadhan desires that, I do not know. Perhaps you can ask him yourself.”

“I thought Creator was all-knowing.”

He looked up to see her quirk of smile. “No,” she signed. “I’m not and never was. I can see results of human actions far in advance, decades, but even that is useless. It is branches of consequences in an unimaginably large tree. Following a branch to its end is impossible, because it can diverge into another course at any moment and there is never truly one ending, but thousands—millions.”

Kiol didn’t quite understand what she meant but he got the gist. He set the stone down and shrugged, then signed, “So you don’t read minds.”

“No.”

“Then how do you know Ruadhan’s intent is bad?”

She paused, taken off guard. It lasted only a second. “Whatever his intent, whatever heroic deed he has convinced himself he’s doing, it does not matter. Envier’s return will only lead to devastation. That Ruadhan tried to stop me, the only one able to subdue Envier, from awakening is proof enough of his ill-intent, don’t you agree?”

Kiol shrugged again. He saw the sigh that accompanied the shake of her head.

“We need your help. I’m not yet at my full strength and it cannot be known that I have returned. Ruadhan, especially, cannot know. But I need to stop him from waking Envier. I need to dismantle that whole corrupt Society. Until I have the strength and allies to do so from the outside, I need someone on the inside to weaken their hold and tell me what they are doing. People are dependent upon the Society and the Archbishop, and humans dislike change. Even faced with the truth they may not listen. They will want things to remain the same.”

“They worship Creator,” Kiol signed. “If that is you, they will follow you.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy.” Her face fell from its calm confidence, eyebrows knitted together and teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “Especially with Ruadhan. He’ll manipulate them to believe his lies, to spit in the face of my truth, to try and cut me down before I’ve had a chance to stand. He is a cunning and dangerous man, Kiol. You know that already, you don’t need to take my word for it.”

Nirin stood, bringing Kiol’s attention. He tried to see what the boy thought of all this, but his expression was only locked in that unyielding smile-not-smile. He gestured to the pot and signed, “Another fifteen minutes and it should be ready. Will you eat with us?” He directed the question to Kiol.

Kiol shook his head. “I need to go back,” he signed. Nirin’s face fell, just a little, but enough. Enough to stab a tiny needle into Kiol’s heart. But the boy nodded acquiescence.

“What will you do?” the woman asked. “Will you help us?”

“I don’t know,” Kiol said.

“Will you at least keep all you’ve learned a secret?” she asked. “If you tell Ruadhan any of this, you’re putting the world in danger.” When she saw the absolute zero reaction Kiol had to this, she added, “And you’ll be carving Nirin’s gravestone.”

That tensed his muscles. He hated that it did, and hated that she saw, and hated more that she knew as much to use it against him. How dare she know. How dare it work.

Once again, despite claiming no capability of it, she seemed to read his mind and smiled. “You’re both god-gifted. You have a connection no one else on earth can understand.”

“Shut up,” Kiol said, and despite his words coming out sharp and harsh, her smile softened. He opened his mouth, decided against saying more, and turned around. This time, though, he was the one who threw the dagger. The woman didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, as it struck her in the center of her chest. She pulled it out and blood followed, but only for a moment. The next, her skin was sealed shut again. Kiol had not even seen it happen, it just… was. Save for the blood staining her robe, it was like the wound had not existed in the first place.

Creator proffered the dagger to him, holding it by its bloodied blade. He took it and stalked out of the cottage.

Once in the depths of the forest, out of that suffocating warmth and light, Kiol washed the dagger in a stream and examined it. Studied it. He could find no fault. He hid it inside his vest then made his way quickly back to the city without stopping for sleep. He didn’t return until mid-day. The second he stepped inside the temple grounds, the guards halted him.

“Ruadhan needs to see you.”


	9. Chapter Eight

Kiol’s head hurt and exhaustion turned his eyes to sand. Nonetheless, he walked to Ruadhan’s quarters. The man was standing bent over the desk, hastily writing a letter. He looked up, pen still in hand.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Kiol paused in closing the door. “You asked for me.”

“Yes, I know that. I told the guards to summon you as soon as you’d returned. Which should not be this early. Did you follow that boy?” Kiol nodded. Ruadhan set the pen aside and straightened. Kiol wasn’t sure, the man’s countenance remained steel, but he thought Ruadhan was a bit… frantic. “Tell me, then.”

“He didn’t do anything. He played on the streets, bought things, walked around.”

Ruadhan held his elbows in contemplation, tapping a finger against one. “He left the city,” he said.

Kiol nodded. “He went into the forest.” Ruadhan stared at him. Kiol resisted the urge to shift. “There was no base, sir.”

“Then why did he go?”

“He went to eat. Then came back.”

“To eat?” Ruadhan questioned. “Eat what? Where?”

“Vegetables. In the woods.”

“Just… in the woods. Not even in a house?” Kiol shook his head. Ruadhan’s jaw twitched, but he turned away. 

“I will keep following him,” Kiol said. Ruadhan didn’t respond. After a long moment he waved his hand and Kiol left. He was glad he’d only had to tell one lie because he was shit at lying, especially to Ruadhan, and he was too tired to keep any deception cohesive.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He woke up. Damn. He had hoped for a coma. Kiol sat up and rubbed his head, looking around the room. It was only then he noticed the charm on the ground. It was by the wall, pushed there when he opened his door last night. He had been too tired to notice even something so obvious and gaudy as that red tasseled knot. The runes inscribed on the wood dangling alongside the tassel were beautiful penmanship, elegant and crisp.  _ Strength - Protection - Solace _ . It reminded him. He reached into his vest, heart pounding, but his hands connected to hilt. He still had it. He pulled the dagger out and held it loosely, reveling in the comfort and familiarity of a lost friend.

Ruadhan had given it to him. For the Temple General to give a present of any sort was unheard of, and the rest of the soldiers were astonished. Kiol himself hadn’t thought it overly strange. An incredible honor, of course, but not an impossible reality. After all, Ruadhan was like a father to him. Had been, rather. Had been like a father to him.

The dagger wouldn’t damage his leather vest too badly, but Kiol didn’t want to run the test of time on that. He put it back in the inner pocket and resolved to buy a scabbard for it. Then he scooped up the charm and headed out.

He’d slept through the entire afternoon and into the morning. When he arrived at the food hall, breakfast was being put away but he hadn’t eaten in almost two days. He grabbed the back of a worker’s jacket and yanked them off the platter of hard-boiled eggs they were about to pick up. They yelped and scurried away. He took the whole platter and a jar of pickled vegetables to a table. Some of the newer kitchen workers stood far off and watched him, amazed, as he devoured the lot of it. Then he left the empty dishes for them to take care of and went to the training grounds.

There were three different grounds, though they weren’t actually separated by anything except that they were each on one side of the temple. Kiol walked the colonnade, watching the fields closely. Each one was enormous, able to hold six hundred soldiers with ease. The obstacle course had been put away and replaced with neophytes practicing command reactions. The other had intermediates running laps, and the last held seasoned soldiers sparring. They were brutal with each other, attacking as though their lives really were on the line; even with practice swords… wood was not a soft material. They were not as brutal as Kiol had been. Kiol had broken many of those swords, and many bones alongside them.

He scanned the pandemonium, but even his eye couldn’t pinpoint the twins. Too many brown buns and tan skins did not make them stand out. He was sure they had been intermediate so he hopped onto the railing along that side and lounged against a column to watch them run. After a while he finally saw one. She stood out because she started to lag behind, slowing down while the others had sped up. They were all spaced fairly evenly around the perimeter, but the slowest moving one was obvious to anyone. The one always chosen as prey.

Eventually the others finished their ten miles and filed off the field. All that was left was the prey. And her twin, who stood in the temple shade to rest a bit while she waited. The girl finished twelve minutes after the others and immediately leaned on her knees, gasping for breath. Her twin wandered over and Kiol hopped off the railing to follow.

The first one handed a flask over and her sister chugged half of it before handing it back and wiping her face. Then her eyes fell to Kiol and the first girl turned quickly, tense for action. When she saw who it was she relaxed. If Kiol had been an instructor he would have reprimanded her for that, for assuming he was safe.

He thrust the charm out towards them. “I told you I didn’t want one,” he said.

They eyed it, then exchanged a look. “That’s not one of mine,” the shy girl said, still catching her breath. She glanced at her sister.

That one held up her hands. “You know I can’t make charms for shit.”

Kiol drew it back and looked at it. Who else would be slipping charms under his door? The twins were watching him. He tucked it into a pocket. “You should quit,” he told the shy one. “If you can’t handle it, this will kill you.” 

The other bristled and stepped in front of her sister, blocking her from view. “Fuck off! Who are you to give such shitty advice? You don’t know us!”

Kiol looked her in the eye and her brazenness deflated a little at the savage coldness she saw there. “She’s holding you back,” he said. That sentence returned her grit in an instant and she flung out a fist. He caught it without looking and twisted her arm, forcing her to her knees. She clutched her arm as though she could wrestle it from him, face contorted in pain. “This is kindness,” he said. He let her go and walked away.

He ordered a custom scabbard in a small shop at the edge of the city and was on his way back when something compelled him to change course.

This time when he entered the inn, with his soldier uniform on, the patrons quieted and stared and shifted out of his way. It was a different attendant than before but Kiol had no doubt they spoke at length about the goings on of the inn, especially when it involved a character like him.

“Is that boy here?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, yes sir, he is. Shall I have someone fetch him down?” He started to lift his hand to beckon a person over.

“No,” Kiol said before he could. “Same room?” The attendant nodded and Kiol found his own way.

He did not try to be quiet at all, yet when he slid open the door and stepped inside Nirin didn’t look up. He was kneeling on the floor, bent over his knees and writing. It wasn’t until Kiol moved closer that he saw he was writing on a pouch. Of all the materials to use as parchment, that may have been the strangest. He stood, watching over his shoulder as Nirin finished a sequence of runes that Kiol had never seen before. He hadn’t even known there were more runes than those he knew. Then Nirin washed the brush in water and laid it on its case to dry. 

He looked up at Kiol, the angle making his eyes even bigger and his face even smaller. Kiol’s heart pounded like he had finished a five-mile sprint and he looked away.

“Ruadhan knows about you,” he signed, eyes glued to the lattice window. It showed only the gray siding of the building next door. “He has informants all over the city. You have to be careful.” Of course, he couldn’t see if Nirin acknowledged, let alone replied to the warning. He was just about to peer back down when he felt a hand in his pants. He grabbed it on reflex, blood running ice cold, and his widened gaze snapped down to Nirin on his knees before him. “What are you _ doing _ ?” he hissed.

Nirin blinked at him, innocent as a lamb, not even trying to break away from Kiol’s painful grip on his fingers. “Charm,” he signed with his free hand.

It took Kiol’s addled brain a second to comprehend, and when he did he let go of the boy and took the charm from his pocket to drop in front of him. “Just ask next time! Geez…” He backed up and since Nirin didn’t seem willing to stand, he sat on the floor with him. Nirin lifted the charm and examined it closely, turning it over and over. Kiol didn’t know what he was looking for. “Yours?” Kiol asked. Nirin shook his head. Kiol hadn’t actually hoped to solve the mystery that easily, especially since there was no way the boy could have gotten into the temple even if he had known where Kiol’s room was.

He watched without care as Nirin unraveled the knot and untied the wooden slab, effectively dismantling the whole thing. He looked confused about something and was still looking over the pieces when Kiol finally took the bait and sighed. “What is it?”

Nirin looked up. “Where did you get this?” he signed.

“It was in my room,” he signed back. “Slipped under my door. I don’t know who put it there.”

“Do you have any idea who it could have been?”

Kiol shrugged. “No. Unless that girl was lying and it was hers.”

“Girl?” Nirin perked up. “Twin?”

Kiol blinked at him. “Yes. How…” Nirin left the broken charm on the ground and went to the table, lifting up a burlap sack. Kiol huffed in disgust. “Did you go back to that dirty stall? Stop eating there.”

Nirin held out the sack and it took a second for Kiol to realize there was writing on it. He grabbed it then, brows furrowed as he read the messy lines, made harder to read on the rough fabric.

_ Deaf soldier with tainted charm. Ask girl for help, don’t let her say no, don’t let twin join. The mission is more important than its parts. DON’T LEAVE SECT. _

Kiol read it over several times, but it made less and less sense. Finally he squinted up at Nirin. “What the hell is this?”

“A message,” Nirin signed, sinking back to his knees. “She’s never given me one like this before. I can’t understand it. I think… I think it’s meant for you.”

“A message,” Kiol repeated, before signing. “From that vegetable lady? For me? Does she even know who I am?” Before Nirin replied Kiol’s eyes widened. “Wait!” he exclaimed, looking the sack over. It was turned inside out to expose the writing. He twisted around to look at the pouch where Nirin had left it to dry. It was inside out.

He whipped back around to sign, “Is this how you’re communicating? Those vendors—those vendors are cultists?”

Nirin hesitated. “Not cultists…”

“Whatever!” Kiol burst out, standing in a hurry. “Your allies! They’re your allies?” Nirin nodded. Kiol threw the sack onto the ground and sprinted out of the room. He vaguely had the sense of Nirin following, but he didn’t slow. Not until he reached the end of that market street. The vegetable cart was there, dingy as ever, but the grandma was gone. No blood, no sign of a struggle. That was how soldiers did it. A needle of paralytic poison injected into their spine, then carry them away on the premise that they had fainted and were being brought to the temple infirmary.

Kiol realized what he was doing and turned around, heart in his throat. Nirin was coming up behind him, panting for breath, but safe. Kiol grabbed onto his hand. “Don’t separate from me,” he said, and took off to the next stall he’d seen Nirin visit, dragging the poor kid after him. But one after another, they were all the same. Vanished without a trace.

He finally stopped, letting Nirin catch his breath, though he didn’t release his hand.

“Are they dead?” Nirin signed one-handed.

Kiol ground his teeth. “Dunno. He’ll want to interrogate them. But they’ll die eventually.” Nirin’s fingers tightened around his and he glanced at the boy. Nirin’s face was carefully still. “I can’t save them,” Kiol told him before he had a chance to say it. “Really, I can’t.”

“No, you can’t,” Nirin signed, surprising him. He seemed like someone who would try anything against the worst odds to save another’s life. “The mission is more important than its parts,” he continued. “You can’t leave the sect.”

Kiol curled his lip. “Like I said, that grandma didn’t know me. Don’t put such weight on her words.”

Nirin shook his head. “They weren’t her words. She wrote them, but they were from someone else.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. But I trust them.”

“You can’t trust someone if you don’t even know them,” Kiol scolded. Nirin met his eyes and didn’t need to say anything for Kiol to know his words.  _ We don’t know each other either _ . He shook his head. “Whatever. You have to leave the city.” He gripped Nirin’s hand tighter, ready to pull him along again.

He hadn’t taken a step when he sensed the violent aura behind them.


	10. Chapter Nine

Kiol spun and caught the kick on his arm, using his other hand to yank Nirin behind him. He dove into the fight but pulled back from killing when he saw the soldier uniform. A soldier. A fellow soldier was attacking him. Kiol was also in uniform so it wasn’t as though they didn’t know. Seeing two soldiers fighting, the sparse crowds had already taken off in panic.

Kiol blocked the soldier’s moves easily but pulled all his parries and attacks and couldn’t put an end to the fight. He’d never killed another soldier before, and without knowing why this one was attacking he didn’t want to. If he could question them… but there was no way to restrain them in a position that allowed lip-reading.

Finally he decided to knock them unconscious and deal with it later when the person lurched unnaturally and was halted in their attack. A crossbow bolt was struck through their chest. They stared down at it, uncomprehending, until they sank to the ground as life left their body.

Kiol’s eyes focused on the man walking towards them from down the street. Ruadhan. Kiol reached behind himself instinctively and a slender hand took his own. He had done it without thinking, to be certain Nirin was okay, but for some reason that hand in his seemed like it was the one comforting him.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Ruadhan said when he was closer, walking with predatory ease, crossbow held loosely in one hand. A chill spread down Kiol’s body. “To not tell the difference between a fellow soldier and an impostor.” Kiol glanced at the body by his feet. The clothes were official, and how was he to recognize any soldier as one of the hundreds he didn’t know? He realized then, belatedly, that the man had been fighting with a different style than a soldier would have; messier, more desperate. But in the moment Kiol hadn’t had time to notice any of that.

Ruadhan crouched down and ripped the bolt from the body, making it convulse. The person hadn’t died yet. Kiol drew his sword and stabbed it through their neck to end them. Then he faced Ruadhan.

He didn’t reload the crossbow. He stood, watching Kiol with a dark expression. Then his gaze slanted down and a depth of resentment Kiol had never seen before—from Ruadhan or anyone else—flashed through his eyes. Kiol followed the look to Nirin standing by his side, hand still clasped in Kiol’s as he faced Ruadhan with his usual steady calmness.

A strange flare of embarrassment choked Kiol and he looked back to Ruadhan, feeling like he ought to explain. But explain what? Why he stood hand-in-hand with the enemy, like two children crossing the street? How? Why did he care any longer what Ruadhan thought?

“Won’t you introduce us?” Ruadhan said, prying his stare from Nirin back to Kiol.

Kiol hesitated. “Don’t you… already know…?”

“I know of the boy, yes, but I haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

“This is…” Could he give Ruadhan Nirin’s name? He likely already knew it. But still, it made Kiol’s skin crawl. “This is Nirin. Nirin, Ruadhan.” Nirin inclined his chin in greeting. Ruadhan only continued staring down his nose at him with a dangerous glint in his eye.

The long pause that followed made Kiol’s flesh bump and crawl until he wanted to tear it off. The unfathomable hatred in Ruadhan’s eyes was made all the more chilling for how still the rest of his face and posture was. Kiol felt as though he were not there at all, like it was only Nirin and Ruadhan facing each other on the street, peace in silent standoff with hostility. It was eternity before Ruadhan gave Kiol his attention again.

“I have an assignment for you,” he said. “Report to my office in a half hour.” And he disappeared down the street without another word.

Kiol didn’t speak until he was out of sight. “You have to leave.” He was about to grab Nirin’s arm to make him follow when the boy shook his head.

He signed, “No, I will stay.”

Kiol thought he would burst a blood vessel from stress. “Your allies are gone! There’s nothing in the city for you and no where to hide from the Temple General. Ruadhan is going to kill you!”

“No he won’t,” Nirin signed. Kiol could have split stone between his teeth.

His hands shook as he signed, “Are you blind as well as mute?! The way he looked at you—when Ruadhan wants someone in the city dead, they die. That’s the only outcome.”

“He wants me dead but he won’t kill me. There is something he wants more from me than my death.”

“Which is??”

Nirin tilted his head. “I don’t know. I will likely find out one way or another.”

“So torture in place of death,” Kiol signed, exasperated. “That is worse. Get away while you can, I’ll accompany you to the forest safely.”

“No need.” Nirin’s gentle smile squeezed Kiol’s heart and infuriated him at the same time. “I will stay. Go report. I’ll be at the inn.”

Kiol reached out, resolved to force him out the city gates either way, but where he expected contact with Nirin’s arm, he grasped air. Nirin had moved aside just enough to dodge his hold. He had never avoided Kiol’s touch before. Well, Kiol just hadn’t expected it so he went to grab him again, this time ready for evasion, but it happened anyway. No matter how Kiol moved or changed tactics, it was like chasing a ghost.

He finally gave up, tossing his hands in frustration. “Fine! Get captured and die then!” He spat it out without thinking, an anger born from helplessness. Nirin’s easy demeanor shifted then and Kiol would have preferred a crossbow bolt to the pain that hurt expression stabbed through his chest.

But in that split second Kiol had already turned and taken a step. Pride drove him forward, stalking off and leaving Nirin a lonely figure in the abandoned street.

When his anger abated, which didn’t take long, he comforted himself with the very thing that had caused it. If Nirin could evade him he was not really in danger from anyone else. Of course, Kiol didn’t know how far that skill extended—to range weapons? To group attacks?—but somehow it seemed Nirin was more capable than the vulnerable aura he emitted.

Ruadhan was back in his office when Kiol arrived. He stood in front of the desk, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Kiol didn’t sit this time, standing against the door instead.

“Where’s the boy?” Ruadhan asked.

The Temple General didn’t lose track of a person of interest. “You know where he is,” Kiol said. He didn’t let his annoyance into his voice, but Ruadhan would have known it was there anyway.

“I meant, why isn’t he with you? You need him for this assignment.”

Kiol kept his expression neutral but his heart was suddenly pounding again. He didn’t let his thoughts run away from him, restraining them as he waited for Ruadhan to continue, waiting to hear what horrors the man would order him to commit against Nirin.

“Sixteen,” Ruadhan said. Had Kiol misread? Ruadhan arched his eyebrows. “I’ve taken care of over a dozen false soldiers. Running about the city, causing mayhem. Making our citizens feel unsafe and question their trust in my soldiers. You will find the person responsible for this and bring them or their head to me.”

Kiol’s eyebrows twitched together. That wasn’t his job. He received a target and he killed them. He didn’t lead investigations to seek out a nameless, faceless person. “That’s not my skill set,” he said.

“No, but it is Nirin’s.”

Was this the ‘something’ that he wanted Nirin for more than the boy’s death?

“Nirin isn’t a soldier,” Kiol said blandly. “He’s not even a disciple of the Society.”

“No, but he will help you if you ask.”

“You have others with the skills. Why not send a soldier who is equipped for this?” Kiol asked. Before, he would have never talked back like this, wouldn’t have questioned Ruadhan’s orders even if they were as nonsensically assigned as this. But that was no longer an option. Nirin’s life, possibly even his own, was on the line.

Ruadhan held up three fingers. “The city doesn’t trust any soldiers at the moment and won’t cooperate with an investigation. They will trust Nirin.”

“Why?” Kiol asked. Was that Nirin’s gift? Could he manipulate others’ emotions, make people trust him? Was that why… Kiol’s stomach soured.

Ruadhan continued as though Kiol hadn’t interrupted, holding up two fingers now. “No matter how skilled my students are, they do not have the gifts that the two of you have.” One finger. “These frauds are wearing official uniforms. I’ve determined there are several, perhaps dozens, in the sect who are part of this. Without knowing who, there is no one to trust.”

“I might be one of those people,” Kiol said dryly. “Nirin is a cultist, he could be operating this entire thing.”

“I know that’s not the case,” was all Ruadhan replied. “You will fetch him, and you will investigate. I have two false soldiers in cells you can interrogate, though I don’t believe they will be easy to crack.”

“I’ve never done an investigation before,” Kiol said. He didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re smart,” Ruadhan said. “You’ll figure it out.” Kiol narrowed his eyes.

“I will do this under one condition,” he said. “Nirin will not be touched or harmed, even after this is solved.”

Ruadhan almost smiled at that. Almost. It was just a slight wry twitch of his lips. “He is not who he says he is, Kiol.” Ruadhan hadn’t said his name so gently in a long, long time. Kiol swallowed, trying to ignore the way his throat constricted. “He is not what he says he is. He’ll only disappoint you.”

Kiol worked his jaw, summoning strength to keep his voice flat. Ruadhan saw his turmoil, but Kiol wouldn’t let him hear it. Somehow that was worse, like admitting weakness. Showing weakness was an inevitable condition of humanity. Admitting it was a personal failure.

“Do you agree to the terms?” Kiol finally asked.

Ruadhan watched him. Though it was his response expected, it felt like Ruadhan was the one waiting, not Kiol. Waiting for Kiol to come to his senses? To take back his requirement? Kiol stood strong and defiant, meeting Ruadhan’s unfeeling stare.

“I agree,” the man said at last. “Now do your job.”

Kiol shut the door to his room and leaned back against it, gripping his head. Was this Creator’s doing? Sending false soldiers into the city to sever people’s trust of the Society? How could Ruadhan hold such animosity towards Nirin, know he was a cultist, but still be so sure this wasn’t his ploy? Was this what he had to ask a twin’s help for? And which twin? Why couldn’t that stupid message have specified! And Nirin…

He shook his head and sank to the ground. Why had this happened to him? Getting caught in the middle of this web, these mysteries, these lies. He would have been content to live out his life following orders. He hadn’t asked for this, this game.

Someone was at his door. He opened his eyes, but the presence had retreated. A bright red caught his vision and he looked down at the charm laying beside him. Strength - Protection - Solace.

He snatched it up as he bolted to his feet and opened the door. There was no one, he knew that already. The air was choked with a scent—no, many scents. Smoky, fragrant, earthy, flowery, like someone had sat in a room with a hundred different incense sticks. Maybe they had. It would mask their true scent from Kiol’s senses. He ran down the hall, following the smell, shoving past soldiers who didn’t dare protest. But without him noticing, the scent had waned, and all at once he found himself with no trail to follow. He stood in the corridor, looking at the faces drifting around him. It was one of the dorm halls so naturally it had a lot more people. He grabbed the nearest one and they looked at him, terrified.

“Did you see someone run this way?” Kiol asked. The boy shook his head vigorously. He grabbed another, and another, but none of them had seen anyone. None of them had even a vestige of that smell on them.

He took a few deep breaths. Not to smell, any more, just to steady himself. There were too many threads to follow and he didn’t know which was the most pertinent. At the moment, though, he wanted answers to the questions he’d had the longest. He made his way to the prison.

From the outside it looked no different from the rest of the temple, but inside was lined with walls of thick stone and separated into two parts: the front room with its various instruments of torture and the larger back room divided into four dozen cells. A guard in the corridor, a guard at the door into the back room, and two guards with the prisoners. All of them gave Kiol a nod as he strode past.

The eight rebels from the forest were long since disposed of. Kiol pinpointed all the vendors, separated by at least one cell between them, and the two fake soldiers were easy to identify too. The old woman was sitting cross-legged on the floor in her cell. He crouched before the iron bars and she looked at him. She hadn’t been touched yet—looked like none of the vendors had. Despite obviously being part of those who had imprisoned her, the grandma smiled at him.

“You again,” she said. “How were my veggies?”

“The message you wrote,” he said. “Who was it from?”

She nodded sagely, as though about to impart great wisdom onto him. “A beautiful man.”

He blinked. “…The boy I was with?” he asked.

“No, no,” the grandma laughed, exposing her spotty gums. “Although he is beautiful too, isn’t he?” Kiol pressed his lips together. “No, a beautiful man… decades ago. Decades. He saved my life, you know. That’s why I remembered. Not that I forget much.” She tapped her head.

“Decades?” Kiol asked. The woman nodded. “How many decades?”

“Oh, how many, how many… too many, son, I’m too old. I was just a foolish flit back then, not even a woman yet. A beautiful man with blind eyes saves your life, you remember his words.”

“A blind man?” Kiol confirmed. She nodded. He couldn’t help the curl of his lip, his gaze sweeping the floor. A blind man decades ago told her to write a message specifically to him? What the hell! She must have been crazy. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you write those things?”

“What why? I told you. He saved my life. I promised this in return.”

“Promised what? What did he ask of you?”

“He told me when I was much, much older I would meet a mute boy who was always alone. Except one day that mute boy would walk side-by-side with a storm-eyed stranger, and then I should give him that message. ‘Deaf soldier with tainted—’”

“Alright, alright,” Kiol said sharply. She smiled at him.

“Was it right, then? Didn’t make any sense to me, but then it wasn’t meant for me, was it? Sixty… no, seventy? Seventy years, yeah. I bet he had no hope. If I was willing, would I remember? If I remembered, would I be willing? But don’t beautiful men always get what they want?…”

Kiol had long since stood up and was examining the charm, ignoring her and ignoring the looks the guards were giving him. He turned it over, studying it like Nirin had done. He knew nothing about charms. How could one tell it was tainted? But…

That made a decision for him, at least.


	11. Chapter Ten

He searched the temple—the dorms, food hall, common halls, training grounds, everywhere. The twins weren’t in the martial temple at all. He went to the delegator.

Her office was more like a library than a meeting place. Shelves separated the room into segments, full of scrolls and stacks of paper with subordinates rushing to and fro to gather, check, organize, deliver. The delegator looked up from the report she was reading when Kiol dropped his hands onto her desk. He didn’t know her well; someone else had been in the position when he was younger, before he started reporting directly to Ruadhan. But of course she knew Kiol.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Where are the twins? Those girls?”

The woman put down the paper. “Why do you ask?”

“For my mission,” Kiol said.

She hesitated. Normally the details of another’s assignment were only given with express written permission from the Temple General, but Kiol himself might as well have been that permission. He only received orders from Ruadhan, after all. She rifled through one of the dozens of piles on her desk and handed Kiol a paper. He read it quickly. They were dealing with a group of thugs that were terrorizing businesses on the east side of the city.

“Just them?” Kiol asked. Assignments never had two soldiers. If it required more than one, it would be at least three. And a mission like this should have had at least six.

“No one else will accompany them,” the delegator said flatly. “Are you going?”

He nodded. “Mn.” The delegator sighed and handed over a scroll.

“Read up then.”

.

The east part of the city was a strange assortment of homes, slums, entertainment, and “entertainment.” Soldiers patrolled here twice as often but it didn’t stop problems from cropping up. It was almost its own little economic bubble, and the disparity between destitute and affluent was only seen more strongly given that the well-off were often the ones peddling the poor; their skills, wares, and bodies.

Kiol moved by rooftop—it was more convenient and less annoying than dodging through crowds. Despite it being only the afternoon, people below didn’t notice him. He moved fast, but really most people just weren’t craning their necks to see the sky that often. Especially given that it was raining.

Kiol found the building, its haphazard construction spread out over both buildings beside it and hitting three floors in height as well—impressive. He dropped down one eave at a time to reach the ground, startling a group of girls who were standing under the roof. He had changed into civilian clothes, but that may have just made it all the more confusing. They patted their hearts and reprimanded him but he didn’t even look at them, brushing past the thick curtain to get inside.

Immediately he was bombarded with smoke, from pipes and incense. His mind turned to the charm and its mysterious lender, but it wasn’t the same. The incense here was only lavender and honeysuckle, strong fragrances that covered up the musky tobacco and opium and other unsavory smells that accompanied such houses. He waded through more curtains of cloth or cheap gemstones, not exactly in the way but still hung obnoxiously, sometimes strung along the ceiling, sometimes pooling against the ground.

He hadn’t gotten through the front hall before someone approached. It wasn’t with violence, but it was with an intensity that still put him on guard and he dodged out of their attempt to grasp his arm. The woman pouted at him, swaying her hips.

“Aw, sweetie, you shy?” she cooed, sidling up closer but not trying to touch him again. He recoiled from her anyway.

“Twins come in here?” he asked.

She blinked. “Twins? Why are you looking for a curse when you’ve got a miracle right here?” Her smile was near venomous in its seduction and she tried to press against him. He skirted away from her and continued into the house. He had to avoid several encounters, at one point even fleeing a particularly persistent woman at an actual run, but eventually he found what he was looking for. Or, half of it anyway.

She was lounging across a low sofa, smiling sweetly in conversation with a courtesan leaning over the top of it. Kiol had the twin’s names from the report, but even so there was no telling which this was, Corva or Caelin. Like him she wore civilian clothes, though hers were soft pink and purple robes. He debated waiting, lingering along the perimeter of this open room until she was less occupied, but he hadn’t stood there half a minute when someone honed in. He didn’t bother even trying to read the woman’s lips, stepping away from her attempts to caress him.

“I’m here for someone else,” he said abruptly. As he knew would happen by now, she tried to change his mind, but he had already made his way—quickly—into the room.

Corva or Caelin glanced in his direction and her eyebrows furrowed. She sat up, said something to the woman she was speaking with, and stood to meet him halfway. Kiol had assumed this was the confident one, as she seemed rather at ease, but after the morning he doubted that that sister would have reacted so mildly to his presence.

“Why are you here?” she asked when she was closer. He hoped she was speaking quietly.

“I’m helping you,” he replied. That just deepened the crease between her brows.

“Why?”

“Because when this is done, you’re going to help me.”

“With what?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She blinked slowly at him, then nodded. “Corva has gone to speak to the madam of the house. We’re trying not to be seen together. But I think it may be best if I tell her you’re here.”

“Yes,” Kiol agreed. So his instinct was right, this was the shyer sibling, the one whose arm he hadn’t almost broken. “I will look around some more.”

He wandered in and out of rooms, putting more work into staving off propositions than looking for the targets. He was on the second floor, about to make his way to the third, when he dodged an attempt to grab him. It was not a courtesan, it was Corva. He could tell because she looked like she wanted to snap his neck.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She spoke through her teeth and Kiol really had to focus to understand. He already didn’t want to deal with this.

“Did your sister tell you?” he asked, bored. “Go ask her.”

“She told me. But we don’t need help. Especially not from you.”

“You do,” Kiol replied. Her eyes narrowed.

“You force your help only to blackmail us with it? What bullshit is that? We never asked for your help and we have no obligation to return it.”

“Then don’t,” Kiol sighed, and started up the steps. The third floor was less dim than the second, but shawls draped over windows and curls of smoke impaired vision anyway. Instead of a corridor through separate chambers, the third floor opened into large dens. Kiol had to cross one to get to another, and each held worse iniquity than the one before. Drugged and limp bodies lounging in the first room made way for naked, writhing ones in the next, became chained and bloodied in the last. It seemed the most likely place to find thugs; a den of pleasure and pain. But none of the people there matched the descriptions.

Kiol was about to leave them to their depravity when a scene caught his eye. One of the strung-up women being carved into had a blindfold over her eyes and her body covered in old and new scars. Her slender and pale legs, their delicacy turned brutal from cuts, are what halted Kiol. A hard lump settled in his stomach and rose in his throat and he thought he would be sick. Him. Sick from the sight of some consensual violence. But it wasn’t the violence or the blood or the twisted pleasure. It was the familiarity and what that might mean.

It was impossible to say which were clients and which were courtesans on either end of the act. Kiol did not understand either way. He went back down to the first floor, forgetting to even keep an eye out for why he had come. The madam of the house was obvious, not just because she was older than her workers but because she was dressed more expensive and modest. Not that wearing a long-tunic without pants and with the top flared open above the belt could be considered modest, but. In comparison. More modest.

She was speaking with one of her male courtesans and though he looked distressed she appeared quite leisurely, draped across a pile of cushions and plucking grapes from a bowl to eat. Kiol was ready to shoulder in, but thought better of it and waited. He couldn’t see the man’s face but he got the madam’s side of the conversation.

“—what he wants, he gets. It is what you are paid for.” … “No, it is not my job to change his mind. Not that I could.” … “I did not say it was your job either, did I? Your job is to do as you’re told.” For some reason Kiol’s hair stood on end and he looked away so he wouldn’t know the rest of the conversation. Eventually the man left in a bit of a huff and Kiol stepped up.

The madam gave him a sharp, appraising smile, like a butcher deciding which cow to slaughter. “My dear boy, you’ve been wandering all over my house for a while now without picking any fruit.” She popped another grape from the vine and, with the same smile, bit it in half. “This is not a gallery, young man. If you won’t buy what you’re looking at, you will be escorted out.”

Kiol was not surprised. Like Ruadhan knew all the happenings in his domain, this building was her territory as well as her livelihood, so naturally she knew who had entered and what they were doing. “I’m looking for someone,” he said. “A mute boy, not over twenty, long black hair, slender figure.”

“My, my, you certainly know what you want,” she said, her smile slanting. Kiol ignored the sudden sweat on his back.

“Has anyone like that ever worked here?”

She sucked at the second half of the grape, eyebrows high and eyes glinting. When Kiol continued watching her blankly, she finished eating it and leaned back with a sigh. “I’m afraid not, though if you find such a boy, do invite him to meet me.” She flashed a wolfish grin. Kiol refrained from barking an immediate “no” and turned to leave. Two large men were blocking the exit. He casually turned back to the madam. Her smile had faded and she was sitting upright.

“Why is an unannounced soldier here acting suspicious when I have two already invading on the premise of some mission?”

“I’m helping them.”

“Helping? Or causing trouble?”

“Helping.” Kiol met her gaze steadily.

“Then why weren’t you in the rundown I was given?”

“I arrived after. They didn’t know. They know now. Ask them if you must.”

She gestured to whoever behind him and Kiol turned his head just enough to see one of the men slip out the door. Of course, Kiol could have taken both of them easily, but he wasn’t about to draw attention and risk the assignment, plus piss off the largest brothel owner in the city. Degenerate as her position was, she was still highly connected and influential. Perhaps even more so than beloved public figures; certain benefits came with fulfilling desires and knowing secrets that others wanted to keep locked away forever.

The man returned and leaned into the madam to whisper in her ear. For a moment Kiol was worried he had gotten hold of Corva and out of spite she had told him Kiol wasn’t there with them. But when the man straightened the madam only sighed.

“Fine, fine. You may go, soldier. But know that any trouble or damage will be greeted with immediate repercussion.”

Kiol dipped his head and this time the door-guard stepped aside when he turned around. He shouldn’t have been worried. Pissed or not, Corva was a soldier and on an assignment, and she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. He decided to meet up with Caelin again to see if the twins had found anything. But she was not back where he had first seen her. As he started to wander the floor to search, a crowd of panicked people, workers and clients both, rushed towards him. He stepped aside, flattening himself against the wall and watched them trample past. Then he started towards where they had fled from.

At the front of the house, the girls Kiol had first startled on his arrival were being held at knife-point. Corva and Caelin were already there with some of the brothel guards, facing them down. Including Kiol there were seven of them, which should have been more than enough to deal with the five boorish thugs detailed in the report. The problem was, there weren’t five. There were eighteen.


	12. Chapter Eleven

"About time you showed up,” Corva hissed to him when he stopped beside her. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment and she rolled her eyes as she turned back to the situation. He examined it as best he could. One of the men, the forward-most, was talking with a guard. Making demands, it looked like. But Kiol didn’t think he was the leader. No, the one in the back, arms crossed and calmly watching the proceedings from a vantage to see it all, was the leader.

The report had detailed five thugs, well-coordinated but ill-trained, who threatened some small businesses with violence if they didn’t give them part of their earnings, and promised them protection if they did. Protection from what was unclear, but Kiol had to wonder about it coinciding with the fake soldiers. He hadn’t been paying attention so he didn’t know how long the frauds had been parading around but he got the impression it hadn’t been more than a day or two. Ruadhan wouldn’t have tolerated it longer than that. But these thugs had been harassing people for a week.

Supposedly the thugs spent plenty of time in this very house, but Kiol had taken that to mean giving them business, not threatening it. It was too large an establishment to fit their usual standard. Of course if they had expanded their numbers, they may have decided to expand their reach as well. How convenient they chose today.

Kiol couldn’t really see what the demanding thug was saying. After he and the guard went back and forth a few times, Kiol sensed another presence behind him and glanced to see the madam walking up. Even faced with this scene she was collected, though her expression radiated fury. She brushed past Kiol, past the guards, and stood in the middle of both parties. Whatever she said alarmed the twins and they exchanged a glance. Kiol gestured, catching Caelin’s eye, and she shuffled a bit behind her sister to speak to him.

“She’ll let them kill the girls. She’d rather a few dead workers than cede her money and dignity to such low-lives.”

Kiol turned a more discerning eye back to the madam. He didn’t know much about business, but casually allowing the death of some employees seemed bad for morale and her workers’ trust. Even for soldiers, who understood the possibility of death as part of their jobs, commanders would never consent to their subordinates’ deaths so easily.

Some of the thugs added pressure to the knives at their hostages’ necks and tears leaked from the girls’ wide eyes.

A tiny streak flashed by. Kiol saw it, but apparently no one else did, not even the thug it had landed into. Another, then another. Not until the first man suddenly slumped to his knees was anything noticed. Kiol dashed forward a fraction of a second before anyone else and in two quick slices, killed the last thugs holding hostages. The girls stumbled forward in a panic and he glanced back to make sure Corva and Caelin were protecting them before dodging through the attacks attempted on him.

The leader was in the same spot, arms crossed, watching the fight unfold. Not until Kiol advanced did he finally take the sword from his side to block Kiol’s swipe. He smiled in the face of all Kiol’s attacks. Unlike the other thugs, this man was genuinely trained and good at fighting. But again, Kiol was faced with a dilemma. He didn’t want to kill the man, he had to capture him for questioning. Kiol ignored the mounting frustration and focused on attacking. It was so much easier to just kill people.

He grit his teeth and feigned three attacks before he got an opening. Kiol grabbed the front of the man’s robes and bashed his own head full-force into the leader’s. The man went limp, nose broken and sword falling to the ground. Kiol dumped him to finish off the remaining thugs. Corva and Caelin had done well and there were only four left. Kiol killed them in seconds, then stood among the strewn bodies painting the ground with blood.

The madam had not moved at all that entire time, and she curled her lip at the mess around her. The guards stood before her, having only protected her and leaving the actual offense to the soldiers. “Clean this up,” she told them curtly. “It’s not good for business.” Then she turned and strode into the house.

Kiol examined the first thug who had fallen. A dart stuck out of his neck, barely longer than a fingernail and as thin as a flower stem. Kiol pulled it out and smelled it. A deadly concoction of poison. He’d seen its trajectory; it had come from the second floor of the brothel. Both windows facing the street were empty now.

Kiol stood when he noticed Corva inspecting the unconscious man. “The leader,” he explained. “Tie him.”

Corva squinted at him. “Don’t give me orders.” Her sister spoke—Kiol assumed anyway, because Corva threw her an annoyed look before reaching into her robes where she’d hidden her belt. She bound the man’s hands and feet with rope then patted him down for any concealed weapons. He stirred a bit then and started struggling, and Corva slammed his head into the ground to knock him out again.

Caelin was gathering all the weaponry into a pile and she added the leader’s sword. This was really a task for more soldiers. Kiol blew a breath into the hair that had come loose from his ponytail, cursing the superstitious idiots he had to live with. He went to stand by Caelin. “What’s a tainted charm?” he asked.

She paused, then slowly added the last knife to the pile before looking up at him curiously. “A charm made with ill-intent that reverses whatever it is sealed with, having the opposite effect.”

“So a seal for strength would bestow weakness?” Kiol asked. Caelin nodded. “How can you tell a charm is tainted?”

“The reverse runes are written on it somehow, but usually cleverly. Stained into the charm with water so to be invisible, or written inside the lines of the shown runes. If done well, a tainted charm would be near impossible to detect.” Kiol nodded slowly. Caelin wanted to ask more, but she was smarter than that.

“You and Corva take the man back,” she said. “I’ll stay here until you can get a recovery party over.”

“I’ll stay,” Kiol volunteered. But Caelin shook her head.

“If you request a party they’ll send it. For me or Corva it’ll be too much of a hassle. Please help out one last time.”

Her words were true, so Kiol assented. Corva had maneuvered the unconscious man over her shoulder. “Let’s go then,” she barked.

Another body in the cells. Kiol hadn’t seen the prison so full since they were eradicating the Cult of Envy. He still had to deal with the fake soldiers. They had been stripped of their uniforms and wore the coarse prison garments that couldn’t even be called clothes. Kiol was well and truly done with the day but he had no other excuse to put it off. He hauled them one at a time to the interrogation chair.

Ruadhan had been right; they weren’t giving up their information easily. Through the blood and shredded skin and broken bones they hardly looked human anymore, but still neither spilled. It meant one of two things. They were trained and prepared to an extreme degree, or they feared promised repercussions of talking more than they feared excruciating pain. Given the untrained state of the soldier Kiol had fought, he doubted it was the former.

Kiol dragged them mangled and broken back to their cells and told the guards to keep them alive for the night. Then he washed and left his bloodied clothing to the launderers for cleaning. Even if they got the blood stains out, Kiol needed to buy more civilian clothes. So after a large dinner and a long night of sleep, he made his way to the inn.

Some part of him said that Nirin wouldn’t even be there, that he had left. That he had fled the city and was safe; that he was gone and Kiol would never see him again, never get answers. But when he asked the attendant they said the boy was in the same room, and so he was.

Nirin sat on the bedroll, hugging his knees to his chest and staring at the swirling patterns on the blanket by his feet. Kiol halted before he was even fully in the room, struck by how small and forlorn the boy looked. Pitiful, even. Kiol cleared his throat. Not to announce his presence, but in an attempt to get rid of the strange knot that had twisted there. The noise nonetheless made Nirin’s gaze tilt up.

Kiol slid the door shut and moved closer. So many questions tangled in his head and his chest and he didn’t know what to say, what to ask first. Nirin watched him, not offering conversation either.

Finally Kiol signed, “You were right. Ruadhan wants your help.” The boy nodded, not at all disconcerted by this. “He said the citizens will trust you,” he continued, then faltered. Nirin blinked, slow and incurious. “Your gift,” Kiol signed. “Is it the ability to make others feel the way you want them to? To… to manipulate their emotions?”

Nirin watched him for a long moment, then tilted his head. “You want that to be the case,” he signed. “Yet you are disgusted by it at the same time. Why?”

Kiol’s soul seized at being so called out, so quickly. Nirin knew that too, then. That Kiol hated the thought of being so obliviously manipulated. That he hoped he had been so he had an excuse for all the emotions and actions that were so unlike him. “Tell me,” he said.

“No, it is not,” Nirin signed. “God-gifts affect only the gifted, they never directly affect another person like that.”

“Then what?” Kiol asked. “What is your gift?”

Nirin stood and stepped closer with purpose. If it was anyone else, it would have been threatening and Kiol would have been on guard. But he wasn’t. He watched Nirin close the gap between them without moving an inch himself. “When I look at someone,” Nirin signed, “I know them. What they feel, intend, hope, fear.” Kiol narrowed his eyes. “I cannot read minds,” Nirin answered his unspoken question. Kiol’s eyebrows twitched up and Nirin finally smiled, understanding the irony. “But it is the closest thing to it,” he admitted.

Kiol tucked his hands under his arms and looked away from Nirin’s piercing stare. No wonder it always felt like the boy was peering into his soul. “I have to… buy some clothes,” Kiol said with a sigh. Compared to everything else happening, that had happened, it was stupidly mundane. “Will you come with me?” Nirin’s smile widened and he nodded.

It had been a long time since Kiol shopped for anything other than absolute necessities. He wasn’t even sure where to go, but Nirin led him to a tailor shop. Now that Kiol was paying attention, people did act stranger than usual around him. People saw his soldier uniform and quietly slipped down other streets, closed doors, or hid their children behind them. Kiol had not noticed because for him personally it wasn’t strange for others to avert their eyes, scramble out of his way, or stop talking when he went by. But this was more than that.

Even the tailor, when they entered, straightened and eyed Kiol warily. Nirin gave the man a soft smile, taking hold of Kiol’s arm and patting his chest to show he was harmless. The pressure of his fingers through Kiol’s shirt was gentle yet jolted sparks straight through to his skin. Nirin’s hand lowered before Kiol even had time to register any of it. With the tailor reassured, Nirin went to the shelves filled with robes, his eyes bright. Kiol followed behind, arms crossed. After starting the day seeing Nirin so pitiful and sad, it was hard not to smile at how delighted the boy was browsing the different clothing. But the tailor was still watching, so Kiol kept his face flat. It might have been the first time in his life that he had to struggle not to smile.

He stood in silent toleration as Nirin held up robes and tunics and pants to his body, all different styles, materials, and colors. Nirin looked at not just the held-up clothing but Kiol’s face. Most of the time Nirin would examine the piece a bit and if he didn’t like it, refolded and put it back. If he did like it he draped it over Kiol’s arm. But if he looked and Kiol had even the slightest doubt or dislike, Nirin instantly put it back without giving it a glance himself. It was too bizarre to have someone know and obey his interest without him needing to say anything, not even give a look. Kiol wondered how he hadn’t noticed Nirin’s gift before.

Kiol had never strayed far from black or brown colors. The fabric on his arm included different shades of green and red, even some white. When Nirin was satisfied, Kiol followed him to the service desk and dumped the lot down. “I need an outfit immediately,” he told the tailor. “The rest can be done later.”

“Of course sir.” The tailor gestured to the back room. Kiol glanced at Nirin.

“I can stay here,” Nirin signed.

Kiol’s collar grew hot. “No, it’s fine,” he said, sounding annoyed to cover up his embarrassment. “We’re all men, don’t act like it’s something.” And he strode into the room in a huff.

Nirin sat placidly on the ground, looking around at all the colorful fabrics and threads and devices in the room as Kiol undressed to his underpants. The tailor took his measurements, then shifted through the pile of clothes Nirin had chosen. He handed pants and a tunic for Kiol to try and, after eying the fit, took them back and immediately set to work. In less than an hour Kiol had an outfit: a cream shirt that fastened with knot-loops instead of ties, and soft burgundy pants. His uniform was wrapped into a neat parcel, even his dagger tucked safely inside.

He paid the tailor for that and the future work that the man promised to be finished in a week’s time, the quickest he could do it. Kiol didn’t care, he gave the man whatever money would get it done fastest. He was almost out of the shop before he thought of something and turned around, blocking Nirin from leaving. “Hey kid, did you want to buy your own?” he asked rudely.

The boy blinked up at him. When he didn’t respond Kiol scoffed. “You haven’t changed in days,” he signed. “If you need clothes I have money, it’s nothing to me. Besides, you stink.”

Nirin actually looked like he laughed at that. Kiol couldn’t help his own grin. They stood in the doorway grinning at each other until Nirin signed, “Okay,” and went back into the shop. He had clearly already thought about what he liked because it took him only a minute to gather the robes. Robes were easier to tailor than pants, but with Nirin’s body no male garments were made closely enough to his size to be a quick adjustment. Nirin refused measurements, writing them down for the tailor instead, and Kiol paid. Then finally they left.

“Are we going to question people about the soldiers now?” Nirin signed. Kiol stopped walking to look at him. “That’s what Ruadhan wanted my help with, wasn’t it?” He smiled at Kiol. “And why you wanted these clothes to wear.” Damn, the kid was astute. Kiol didn’t know how much of it was Nirin’s gift after all or if that was just his natural intelligence at work.

“You’ll help?” Kiol asked. Nirin nodded. Kiol glanced around then signed as small as he could, “Did Creator…?”

“She didn’t do this,” Nirin signed resolutely. Well, that was answered at least. But Kiol had no idea who else would, or could. The martial temple was kept under tight watch, as were all assets on the grounds. Uniforms couldn’t go missing without it being known. He supposed that was why Ruadhan thought multiple real soldiers were part of it, keeping the inventory numbers under wraps. Nirin was watching him.

He lightened his expression and signed, “Do you know where to start then?”

Nirin nodded, but his expression was darker than Kiol’s had been. “We start with the Cult of Envy.”


	13. Chapter Twelve

Kiol was speechless for a second, unable to move, before he finally signed, “You said it wasn’t Creator.”

“It’s not,” Nirin signed back. “The Cult of Envy doesn’t follow her anymore.”

“But… the cult was trying to awaken her.”

“No, they were trying to awaken Envier. Only Serul and I knew the truth.”

Kiol blinked. “Serul?”

Nirin also paused at that. “Creator. I knew her as Serul before...” Before Kiol killed her. Nirin felt Kiol’s dip of guilty discomfort and quickly continued. “She let people think what they wanted because they wouldn’t believe otherwise. No one else knew Creator had become a remnant.”

“I know where the other remnant is,” Kiol realized. “We could show…” Nirin’s hand on his arm stopped him.

Nirin shook his head. “It’s not so simple. And the Cult of Envy is what it is. They still want to awaken Envier, which we can’t let happen.”

“Why would they send fake soldiers to terrorize the city?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we must ask.”

“The vendors? We can question them, they’re still in cells.”

Nirin shook his head. “They’re not cultists. They were recruits for Creator. People I knew we could trust with the knowledge of her existence.”

Kiol swallowed. Knowing Nirin felt his trepidation just made it worse. They would suffer for Nirin’s trust. And out of the nine, one would surely break and tell the interrogator that Creator was secretly gathering a force. Whether or not anyone else believed them, Ruadhan would. And then he’d know Creator had woken.

“How do we find them, then?” Kiol asked.

Nirin’s expression had not grown better the entire conversation and now Kiol swore it got even darker. The boy couldn’t look formidable, but he looked so grim it was frightening in a different way. And entirely unlike him. “We go to the one place they will always be,” he signed. Kiol really hoped it wasn’t another brothel.

It was a charm shop. A small, quaint store that sat above another selling incense. It reminded Kiol of the charm he still had in his pocket, but it wasn’t a good time to ask Nirin about it. He didn’t understand Nirin’s gloom and couldn't understand why cultists would come _here_. Charms were intrinsically tied to Creator and the Society’s disciples.

The shop was bright and cheery, with charms hung from the ceiling, along walls, from standing racks—all positive fortunes and seals. It wasn’t even clandestine, situated almost in the center of the city and quite near the always-crowded market streets. It seemed to be a well-liked store too, given the several people browsing inside when Nirin and Kiol came in.

Charms were more than the runes on them. The color or style of knot added significance and extra decoration, different calligraphy or a different material for the rune talisman added aesthetic. It was unspoken but unanimous knowledge that charms bought at shops like this one were ornamental more than effective. If someone wanted a charm with actual potency they would have a disciple make it. Of course, Kiol didn’t think those did shit either, so whether commissioned or bought it was all the same to him. “Pretty” charms were especially popular as gifts to a girl one wanted to pursue, with some ridiculous seal like _Love - Devotion - Eternity_ written on a pure-white stone pendant. Which was exactly the one Kiol was looking at now. He was trying to look like a natural customer but the frivolity of it made him roll his eyes.

“What now?” he signed to Nirin. The boy was watching the sales counter with a feral sort of stillness. The lady behind it was talking and smiling politely to a customer as she wrapped a charm. Before Kiol could say more Nirin returned to his usual steady calm. He pressed closer, so close Kiol could see the wisps of hair caressing his forehead and each long, dark eyelash framing his eyes.

“You must ask the right questions in the right way,” Nirin signed, the gestures hidden between their bodies and the wall. Kiol doubted anyone in that store would understand sign-speak, but it was for the best anyway. “Pay close attention.” Kiol had no trouble memorizing Nirin’s questions. Whatever Ruadhan’s motive for requesting Nirin’s help, Kiol was just glad to have someone to tell him what to do.

Before he could take a step, Nirin stopped him. “You need to be less…” Nirin gestured wordlessly. Kiol looked down at himself, not understanding. He was wearing civilian clothes and they covered any scars or other hints of his occupation. In uniform, with the onyx diamond dangling on his belt, everyone knew his identity immediately, but in civilian clothes he had more anonymity. It didn’t stop people from instinctively avoiding him, but what more could he do?

“Less forceful,” Nirin finished. Kiol still didn’t understand. The boy looked him up and down again. “Your aura is too intense. You need to soften it. View yourself as part of society, not outside it.” Kiol’s heart stuttered and Nirin looked up at him, concerned.

“They’re the ones who view me that way,” Kiol signed, setting his jaw. “Not me.” Nirin patted his shoulders and Kiol’s stubbornness drained out of him with the affection in that touch.

“You’re just another person here. They don’t view you as anyone outside them until you give them reason to. So don’t give them a reason.” Nirin squeezed his hands, only for a second before Kiol pulled his away and tucked them behind his back in a tight fist. For some reason they were tingly and numb and his heart was thrumming faster.

“I’ll try,” he muttered.

He grabbed a charm of protection and with Nirin trailing behind, went to the counter. “Was this written by a disciple?” he asked when he laid it down. The woman looked at him with the plastered smile of someone about to deal with a difficult customer.

“All of our seals are made by disciples, sir.”

“Creator’s disciples?”

Her smile faltered at that but didn’t fall. “Of course. What other disciples are there?”

“There are fake soldiers running about. Will this charm work against them?”

“Protection charms work best when you work alongside it. If you throw yourself in front of danger, it might not save your life. If you do your part to keep yourself safe, it will enhance and ensure that.”

Bullshit. What bullshit. Kiol took a breath. Soft, soft. “I want a custom charm too. Do you do that?”

“Of course, sir. One moment.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a piece of scrap paper and a pen. “What do you need?”

“Purple charm with a crown knot and a seal for loyalty, justice, and sorrow.” The woman paused at that, her pen hovering above the word ‘knot’ she had just written. A drop of ink splotched onto the page and she quickly put the pen down. He couldn’t read the expression in her stare. He assumed Nirin, still hovering behind him, could.

She eyed him, not saying anything for a moment. Then she nodded. “Fine. We can do that.”

He paid, took the protection charm, and followed Nirin out. “Was that even useful?” he asked as they returned outside. Nirin did not respond. Seconds later a hand reached for Nirin from the side of the street. Kiol grabbed it and spun the man around, pinning him to the nearest wall.

Nirin touched Kiol’s arm, looking up at him, and Kiol released the man.

He stumbled back, rubbing his arm and still cringing from pain. Kiol didn’t catch what he said, but he assumed it was mostly cursing and angry exclamations so he didn’t try too hard to read. He wasn’t directing his anger at Kiol anyway, but at Nirin, who stood undisturbed beside him.

Kiol held his arm in front of the boy as though it could block the man’s vitriol from reaching him. “Calm down first,” he ordered. That got the stranger’s attention and he turned a stink eye to him.

“And who are you?” he demanded.

“A friend,” Kiol said.

“Recruit,” Nirin signed. The stranger apparently understood sign-speak. He scowled.

“You show up now, after years, with some random recruit? What game are you playing?”

“No game,” Nirin signed. “He fights well.”

The man glared at Kiol. “I noticed.”

“You have no need of another fighter,” Nirin signed. A statement, not a question. The man took it as one anyway.

“You know we welcome anyone.” His anger had lessened, but he still spoke with an offended sneer. Kiol wanted to cut it off his face, but he stayed back, watching their interaction closely. “But if you’re running around gathering recruits, why haven’t you come back?”

“I had no desire until this situation with the false soldiers.” Kiol wondered how Nirin could remain so calm. Making himself devoid of emotion was easy for Kiol, but it wasn’t that, it was never that in Nirin’s case. The boy was fully present, open, watching this man with a tranquil compassion despite his ire and rudeness. And yet—Kiol could see, now that he knew—under Nirin’s calm manner was a calculating study of the man. Unhurried, unforced, unconcerned.

Kiol had used his gift to kill hundreds, had grown up amidst a violence that few could stomach as adults let alone as children, but as he came to fully understand the extent of Nirin’s capabilities, a chill swept him from head to foot.

You could resist being killed. Not that resistance had ever done much for Kiol’s targets, but nonetheless, it was some futile comfort of control. But this… to have yourself opened more thoroughly than any sword could accomplish, and be unable to resist at all. That was terrifying.

All of this passed through his mind in seconds, and the stranger was oblivious to it all as he continued responding to Nirin. “False soldiers? What does that have to do with anything?” He seemed to realize and narrowed his eyes, casting a slanted glance around before leaning close. “Do you think we have something to do with those fools?”

Nirin smiled. “No,” he signed, and Kiol thought it was to him more than the stranger. “I don’t.”

The man straightened, hands on his hips. “Then you want to help people again?” Nirin’s smile faded at that. “Your charms could keep people a lot safer than those silly disciples’ things, certainly more so than the trinkets in this ol’ shop.”

“There are other ways to help people,” Nirin signed, and once again his calm aura had darkened to a severe bleakness.

“Maybe, but none so effective. When did you get so selfish?”

Nirin turned and walked away. The man exclaimed, “hey!” and tried to reach for him again but Kiol grabbed his fingers and bent his hand back until he felt the snap of bones breaking. The man screamed and clutched his hand, falling to his knees.

“Be glad I didn’t use my dagger,” he said coldly, and followed Nirin. The boy didn’t stop walking and Kiol didn’t bother trying to make him, following him all the way back to the inn.

“So it’s not the cult?” Kiol said when he’d closed the room door behind them. Nirin settled to the floor. Having calmed over the walk he sat placidly at the table.

“Not necessarily,” he signed. “It could still be their doing, just a higher level decision.”

“What higher level? With Cre—Serul gone, she was their leader, right?” Kiol dumped himself down far less gracefully across from Nirin. “And even when she was around, I thought there weren’t official positions like we have in the Society.” Then again, Kiol couldn’t say anything about the cult with any modicum of certainty.

“There were people close to Serul… who spread her word or enforced it. They were known among the followers and two of them rose to take her place when she died. But to tell you the truth… this really doesn’t seem like her work.”

“Her? You said two. What about the other?”

Nirin shook his head. “Tori makes all the decisions. Emalen, he is the face of her decisions and keeps everything running smoothly, but he would not act on his own.”

It sounded like Nirin knew them personally. Kiol wanted to ask, but before he even lifted his hands Nirin gave him a quiet, beseeching look. So he didn’t. He didn’t need to ask anyway, to know that Nirin must have been one of these ‘well-known’ people. He had been right in Serul’s quarters that night, after all, and some random man had recognized him from the first inquiry they made.

“Why the charm shop?” Kiol asked instead. “Isn’t that a bit…”

“Almost every charm shop is run by the Cult of Envy.”

Nirin signed it so nonchalantly, like it was a comment on the weather and not a world-bending vital piece of information that Ruadhan would have offered up his own soldiers’ lives for. Kiol was struck into incredulous silence. When he hadn’t moved in another minute, Nirin continued, answering the questions he knew Kiol wanted to ask. “Hide in plain sight,” he explained. “And it is an easy way to send and receive messages, also in plain sight so there is no reason for anyone to get suspicious. Plus it offers an income…” He splayed his hands in a casual shrug.

Nirin waited patiently while Kiol pulled himself out of a stupor. All this time, and they were right under their noses. Not that the Society had been concerned about cultists in years. He hadn’t even known it was on Ruadhan’s radar until the man mentioned Nirin trying to start it again. But he had it wrong, Nirin was collecting followers for Creator. Except Ruadhan was trying to awaken Envier anyway, so why did he care about the Cult of Envy in the first place? But... he knew the true identity of the remnant they were trying to awaken, that even they didn’t. He must have known Nirin’s true intentions, knew exactly what cause those vendors were following, and wanted to stop them under the guise accepted by everyone else.

Kiol dropped his head into his hands, digging his fingers into his hair. He was dizzy with tangles of thought again. None of it made sense, except that it did make sense, but it was a sense that couldn’t possibly be true. A cool palm over one of his hands made him jerk his head up and Nirin pulled back. Kiol propped his elbows on the table, meeting those gold-specked eyes and feeling his stress and tension drain from him, replaced with a different tension in his chest.

“In any case,” Nirin signed when Kiol had calmed. “I think we are back at the start again. Should we question citizens who had run-ins with the soldiers?”

“No,” Kiol said. He pried his gaze from Nirin’s with difficulty, looking instead at the lattice window and running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. It fell right back anyway. “We must ask someone for help first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nirin's secret tragic past is that he worked retail.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The twins were rarely apart. They ate, trained, and relaxed together. Given that no one else would go near them and Caelin got bombarded with jeers as soon as she was alone, they couldn’t be blamed for sticking together. But intermediate soldiers had strict schedules, which could only deviate on grounds of an assignment or an order. And since Corva and Caelin were always assigned together, Kiol was surprised that he found Caelin alone only a day later. She was in her dorm during the short free period intermediates had before mid-day, practicing calligraphy. The room held twelve beds, meaning twelve intermediate occupants, but she was the only one currently inside. She looked up in a panic when he approached, until she saw who it was and her sigh of relief was visible. She finished the rune she was painting and set the brush aside to stand.

Kiol didn’t comment on the calligraphy, despite the fact that he had never seen a single other soldier practice it. Calligraphy was a disciple’s pastime, meant for introspection and art and reflection on beauty. Soldiers had no need for such crap, and typically had no patience for it either.

“Where’s Corva?” he asked. What he really needed to know was, “will she be back soon?” but he couldn’t ask that without suspicion.

“Interrogating that thug,” Caelin said. It was Corva’s right to do so, given that the man was captured from her assignment, but Kiol wondered whether the guards would let her. He didn’t care to bring that up either.

“Can you tell if this is tainted?” He held the charm out to her.

Caelin was taken aback by the question but she obligingly looked it over. After some minutes of inspection she shook her head. “It could be. I can’t tell. The calligraphy is… exceptional. Someone with immense skill and experience wrote these runes. And if that’s the case, if they wanted to taint this charm I doubt even the most meticulous eye could tell.”

Kiol stuffed the charm back into his pocket. Caelin almost looked like she was going to stop him, but she closed her mouth. Kiol knew no one else would dare carry around a tainted charm and would have thought him insane for doing so. He thought they were imbeciles for believing in such nonsense so it measured out. He digressed. “I need your assistance with a mission. Corva cannot know about it.”

“Why?” Caelin’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know that I could keep it from her, and I wouldn’t want to. Why are you asking me anyway? She’d be a better help.”

“No. I’m asking you. Do you accept?”

“She’ll be able to tell I’m keeping secrets from her, you know. Especially if I’m wandering off without her.”

“Doesn’t matter. She can know you’re on a mission. She just can’t know what it is. Yes or no?”

Caelin shifted, her eyes shadowed with indecision even after she answered. “Okay. What’s the mission?”

“You know of the fake soldiers?” Kiol verified. He continued when she nodded, “I’m finding the one sending them. I need to question civilians. That’s all I’ll tell you for now.”

“What exactly do you need me for, then?”

Kiol ignored the question. “We should find out what information the thug gave Corva.”

“Hm? You still want to help us with that? I already agreed, you don’t need to—”

“It’s not to help you,” Kiol said. “Let’s go.” He started out of the dorm without waiting for her to clean her work space. He really didn’t have an instinct for such things but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the thugs were connected to the fake soldiers. It was far more likely he was wrong but he had to make sure, had to cover all possible trails to their end. It may not have been the fastest route but Ruadhan hadn’t given him a deadline.

Caelin caught up to him far down the hall. When they stepped inside the prison, the interrogation chair was empty. The only soldiers were the always-stationed guards. Kiol glanced at Caelin but she looked just as confused. “Corva said she’d be here… she wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You.” Kiol pointed to a guard. “Was her twin in here?”

“Yeah,” the guard said, eyeing Caelin with disdain. “But she found that man dead.” He nodded towards the cell they had put the thug in and Kiol noticed the door was ajar. What he’d first taken to be a sleeping form he saw now was a body with a sheet draped over it. Whenever prisoners died the guards took them to the collector at the end of their shift unless a higher up demanded otherwise. In the meantime they left them where they were. It was no sweat off their backs.

“How?” Kiol asked. The man had been alive—unconscious, but alive—when they’d left him in the cell.

The guard shrugged. “Must have died from his injuries.”

Kiol glanced at the impostors he had interrogated the previous day. They looked even worse, time giving them scabs and darker bruises, but they were alive and shivering in their cells. Kiol hadn’t hurt the thug badly at all, and neither had Corva—there was no possible way he died from the injuries he sustained. Kiol walked into the thug’s cell and crouched down to inspect the body. He was definitely dead. There were plenty of prisoners who pretended to be dead to try and escape—but the thug was white, his body in that limpness that not even sleep could mimic, and his skin sagging. But based on the smell and body temperature, he’d been dead under an hour. Kiol leaned in closer, trying to identify a scent under the layers of others. It didn’t belong. It had not been on the man the other day and it was nothing that should have come from a corpse. It was concentrated most strongly around the lips so Kiol’s best theory was a poison, but not one he could identify, so he couldn’t be sure.

He looked up to see Caelin and the two guards watching him with mixed expression. Watching a man smell a cadaver would unsettle anyone. “Who else came in here in the last hour?” he asked the guards.

“That girl, the interrogator, and a medic checking on those two.” The guard who answered gestured to the fake soldiers.

“Who came close to this man?”

“Just the girl.”

“The whole day? No one else?” The guard nodded. Prisoners didn’t get their one meal until mid-day either, so it couldn’t have been from that.

Kiol examined the rest of the body. Nothing else was out of place, no other wounds, not even an injection site. Could he have poisoned himself to escape torture? But the guards yesterday would have thoroughly searched him, there was no where he could have hidden poison. Kiol growled into his teeth.

“Come with me,” he told Caelin as he stormed out. She did as he ordered. If she had protests, Kiol strode in front of her and couldn’t see. Corva would definitely know something was up when Caelin wasn’t in the dorm and didn’t join her for lunch but Kiol didn’t care.

Nirin was eating when Kiol let himself into the room. The boy set the bowl of soup aside and nodded in greeting to Caelin. She looked completely lost now, glancing at Kiol as though he would provide answers (he wouldn’t), but she dipped her head in return. Nirin beamed at that and stood.

“Change of plans,” Kiol said before Nirin could sign. “We’re going to the east district first.” He already started to move again but paused. “Have you been before?” he asked. The boy was so innocent and pretty, he could become seriously traumatized from such a place. But Nirin nodded. Of course he had been there, he had been all over the city for Creator and when he worked for the cult.

Still, when they reached the first poor house Kiol gestured Nirin closer. “Walk only beside me and stay close,” he said and was gratified when Nirin obeyed.

Kiol still remembered the names and locations of who the thugs terrorized. Most were street food carts, which was the easiest place to start. Since they were questioning about the thugs, which was Caelin’s assignment in the first place, Kiol let her do most of the talking. She and Nirin were the less intimidating front, while Kiol stood to the side with arms crossed. He had to admit, despite his criticism of Caelin, she put on an admirable act of confidence. Her aura of insecurity and shame wasn’t gone but when it came time to do her job she held herself with no hint of the timidness that seemed to plague her otherwise, moving and speaking with a laid-back ease that fooled even Kiol into thinking she was competent.

When they walked off, Nirin retold the vendors’ answers in sign-speak to be sure Kiol got all of it. It was a decent enough system, but the answers were largely unhelpful. It tended to go as follows: A group of men surrounded the cart, threatened the vendor and demanded part of their money. If they didn’t cooperate the men roughed up the cart and products a bit. If they still didn’t comply they roughed up the vendor, though that only happened to one of them and in the end when she still refused to comply the thugs stole her earnings anyway. But some of what they said to her was exactly what Kiol was looking for. They warned her that she wouldn’t have their protection when the ‘streets took a turn for the worse.’

It could have meant several different things but to Kiol it meant one thing: they had known some impending change that others didn’t. Whether that was pertinent to his mission couldn’t be said but it was enough to keep him on the trail. The question was, how did he track people who didn’t exist anymore? All the thugs were dead and even if they weren’t they would not necessarily lead to the person behind the fake soldiers. Their connection was entirely Kiol's speculation. And so far, after Ruadhan had killed or captured all the soldiers, there had been no further reports of impostors.

Beyond street vendors, the next victims were a performing troupe, who said much the same. They were ambushed, demanded part of their earnings for protection. Then the thugs moved on to a money lender, so they were getting cocky. The money lender was the first victim with any real influence, the one who got the Society involved. At the attack the lender had had body guards but apparently it hadn’t been enough.

Now he had eight. Two of which greeted them at the door. No longer a time for Nirin and Caelin to be the face of their entourage, though hopefully Nirin’s presence proved they weren’t impostors, Kiol stepped up.

“We need to question your boss,” he said. Compared to the guards he was not at all imposing, they both stood a head higher than him. Their condescending glances shifted when they noticed the onyx gem on his belt but they held steady.

“Mr. Idretis answered questions already when he reported the incident.”

“And now we have more questions,” Kiol said. He stared them down, unmoving, unfeeling, until the two men glanced at each other and one of them moved aside, saying something. Kiol didn’t catch it, but he took hold of Nirin’s arm to keep him close and walked inside. The guard led them through the short hallway and through a small antechamber to the man’s office. Two more guards at that door, and four in the room. There was barely space for them all. The money lender stood up, eyes shifting warily across the three unfamiliar faces and then turning with scorn to the guard.

“What is this?”

A short back and forth and Idretis seemed resigned to his fate. He waved the guard away and gestured for them to have a seat but the movement fell short when he realized he only had one chair in front of his desk. He coughed into his fist and straightened his tunic.

“How can I help you?”

“Where did those thugs ambush you?” Kiol asked.

“I already told you people. I was on my way from a meeting and they caught me in the street. Five against my two body guards, it—”

“No,” Kiol interrupted. “Where exactly? What street?” Whatever the man said was unintelligible to him. Without even needing to ask, he saw Nirin sign from the corner of his vision. Havish Maple. The Havish Estate with the maple tree had long been abandoned and then demolished to be turned into more cramped housing for the poor, but the street retained the name. Idretis was looking at Nirin queerly and Kiol shifted in front of the boy on reflex.

“And the men? What did they say to you?”

Idretis sighed and pressed his fingers to his head. “They wanted the money I had just collected. After taking down my two guards, what other choice did I have but to give it to them? They left me five coins,” he rolled his eyes, “and thanked me. They said if I continued funding them I would receive their protection from any others who wished to hassle me. Ha! I hadn’t been bothered in years until they showed up! So I was paying them to protect myself from the very same! What ridiculous…” He trailed off into angry mumbles and Kiol lost track of the words. He put out a hand to stop Nirin from translating.

“Did you see where they came from? Havish Maple is a wide street, how did they catch you unaware?”

The man sorted himself out and stood indignantly again. “Three came around a corner behind me and two from an alley. The alley by the butcher shop—they smelled of blood and death, which I suppose must have been agreeable to such barbarians.”

Kiol didn’t know the east district enough to know what he was talking about, but Nirin tugged on his sleeve and Kiol slanted his face towards him to see what he signed. That alleyway only had one exit.

Meaning it only had one entrance. They had to have gone into it before Idretis was walking past and waited, likely for him specifically, meaning they also knew his route beforehand. That certainly wasn’t the work of some low-skilled thugs.

Kiol got the location of where Idretis had been walking from. It was the brothel.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Kiol had apparently gone too quiet even by his normal standards. As they walked down the road Caelin waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention.

“Finally,” she sighed when he looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. As inconvenient as it was, he had a job to do and would follow where it took him. And regardless, he wasn’t about to tell Caelin how much he despised a constant stream of strangers trying to touch and converse with him.

“Are we going to the brothel, then? You’re going the wrong way.”

“No,” he said. “We finish the trail.” The last spot the thugs had attacked, before the brothel, was a gambling den. Just a small one, but nonetheless Kiol had been trying to understand how a small group of thugs had managed to overpower skilled and experienced guards on their own turf. It was becoming more obvious that they were not the low-level thugs the Society originally thought. At the very least, their leader had been knowledgeable in strategy, and likely knew how to best utilize his men’s individual strengths to improve the whole.

The den was in a cramped street, more cramped than usual, and seedy-looking people were lingering about trying to get passerby attention. Some trying to sell rudimentary tapestries, their bodies, or their personal belongings in order to have money to play. Nirin, with his fine clothes and approachable serenity, already drew a lot of notice. The first person to reach out to him and he stopped politely to hear her pleas and look at the dingy wooden utensils she was trying to pawn.

“No,” Kiol snapped at her, grabbing Nirin’s arm to drag him off. “Ignore them,” he told the boy, and looped an arm around his shoulders to keep him pressed to his side. He glared at anyone who so much as glanced their way and it was enough to make them turn their attempts elsewhere.

The small den was even more cramped with barely a spot to walk and lit hazily by paper lanterns. Every inch of the floor had either a table, a person, a lantern, or a game. Kiol led the way, shoving through bodies without care and swiftly kicking off anyone who tried to grab him in their anger.

The owner was in a back room, closed off to anyone without his permission. The guards were less acquiescing than the money lender’s and Kiol was about to fight his way through when a pressure on his arm stopped him; Nirin’s quiet restraint. Kiol met his unassuming look and dropped back with a sigh. Only a minute later the door slid open anyway and a ruffled man emerged, rubbing his head. From his crumpled clothes and messy hair one would think he’d been doing something physical, but inside was only a gambling table and a group of men playing a game, laughing and shouting over each other.

“What, what?” the man griped when a guard leaned over. After being told, he looked to Kiol. He looked him up and down, and Caelin and Nirin. After a moment of thought which looked painful, he gestured them in. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you whatever, just stop interrupting my game.”

Kiol would have thought any good den owner would purposefully refrain from their own peddled recreation. He held back his judgments and eyed the guards as they finally moved aside to let them in. The private game room had an oak table with velvet spread across the top, and a delicate tea cart tucked into the corner with manicured snacks and wines. The three people around the card table gladly moved aside for the newcomers.

“Boss, you have more friends?”

“Nah, boss doesn’t have any friends, you know that!”

“Come play with us, pick a spot, come on!”

“The more the merrier!”

Kiol shook his head and the other two didn’t move. It didn’t matter. The players rearranged themselves and their pieces to accommodate three more people anyway. The owner—Sterren, Kiol remembered from the report—waved his hands lazily.

“I said don’t interrupt my game, didn’t I? You have to play if that’s the case. Don’t worry, don’t worry, we don’t bet with money.”

“Then what do you bet with?” Caelin asked it. She stood slightly behind Kiol but Nirin quickly signed it for him.

Sterren’s smile had a bit too much glee in it. “Favors.”

Kiol would much rather bet with money. “We’ll watch,” he said.

Sterren shrugged. “Then you’ll have to wait.”

Caelin stepped up to the table. “I’ll play. If I win, you will answer our questions.”

“It’s a fast game,” Sterren said. “One question per win.” Caelin nodded.

Nirin moved and Kiol tried to stop him but again found his hands grasping air. Nirin was at the table before he could say anything, picking up the chips allocated to his spot. With an annoyed sigh, Kiol joined. “Fine,” he told the man. “Same conditions as her.” He gestured to Caelin with his chin. He didn’t recognize the game but he would be terrible at it whether he knew or not.

What he’d taken to be chips were thick, small cards with plainly written runes on one side. A group of the same type of cards were placed in the center of the table and one-by-one the players claimed a card by putting another from their hand face-down over it. Kiol had no idea what was happening, and chose one of his runes at random to put down. All at once hands shot out over the table and Kiol stepped back on reflex, dragging Nirin with him. They landed on his card in a pile of limbs and the players started shouting at each other.

Nirin smiled softly at Kiol’s bewilderment. “If they think a player is lying and doesn’t have a match, they tap their card,” he signed. “But they must be the first to tap it. They are arguing over who was first.”

“Match?” Kiol signed.

Nirin gave a nod. “You want your rune to be the same as the one you claim. If it is, nothing happens. If it isn’t and you get away with the lie, you win the round.”

“Then there can be several winners,” Kiol pointed out. Nirin nodded again.

“That is why you want to catch a liar. If you do, you are the sole winner of the round and the liar is the loser. Ordinarily that means your money would go to the winner, but…”

Nirin’s attention turned back to the table and so did Kiol’s. Apparently they had sorted out who had won, and whether because he owned the place or had actually done so, it was Sterren. He smiled at Kiol.

“Well, my favor might be a bit impossible for you, and it’s your first time, so I’ll go easy and change it.” The man tapped his chin in thought. “Call me ‘master’ for the rest of the game.”

Kiol bristled on the inside but kept his face and voice flat. “That’s not a favor.”

“It is here,” Sterren said, his grin not budging.

Kiol stepped back up to the table. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Fine what?” Sterren prompted.

“Master,” Kiol said through grit teeth. Sterren smiled.

“Okay, another round, another round!” The other players collected their claimed pieces while Sterren took Kiol’s and more cards were placed in the middle of the table. This time Kiol was careful to put down a matching rune. No liars on this round. Everyone collected their pieces and another round began. This time after the first player had gone, Nirin reached out and tapped the card without hesitation. The man laughed in good-nature and flipped the card to expose his lie.

“What can I do for you, darling?” He winked. Kiol subconsciously pressed closer to Nirin.

“He’s mute,” he said. He hadn’t been expecting Nirin to take such initiative at all.

“The owner must answer a question,” Nirin signed. Kiol repeated it to the group and Sterren furrowed his brow.

“No I don’t, I didn’t lose.”

“He agreed to the conditions,” Nirin signed. “Caelin said if we win, he answers a question. She did not specify that he has to be the loser.”

Kiol huffed a laugh under his breath and told Sterren the same. The man rubbed his head and squinted as he thought. “Ah… I guess so,” he said, and laughed. “Okay, okay, fine!”

“Ask what you want,” Nirin signed to Kiol.

This was far too much trouble for some simple questions, but they didn’t seem to have a choice. Kiol turned to Sterren. “How many thugs attacked this place?” Sterren raised his eyebrows expectantly. Kiol watched him blankly until he caught Caelin mouthing ‘master’ to him. He pressed his lips together and managed to get out a, “Master.”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Sterren said, seeming quite pleased with himself. “It was chaos in here. They killed a guard and one of my customers and everyone was fleeing and panicked.”

“You said five in the report,” Kiol reminded him. “So that was a lie?”

Sterren waved his hands frantically. “No, no, not a lie! Well that’s what I assumed, after hearing about the five men harassing businesses. But I guess it could have been more. Sorry—it wasn’t a lie, wasn’t a lie, I promise.” He didn’t seem to recognize who Kiol was, but he apparently knew enough to understand the consequences that came from lying to the Society.

Caelin calmed the man down with reassurances that he wasn’t in trouble and he quickly went back to his lackadaisical excitement.

They played round after round and without fail, Nirin won them all. Kiol should have known, of course he would be godly at such a game. Probably at most games that weren’t entirely up to chance. The men started complaining and saying that he was cheating, but Sterren laughed them off with a, “How could he cheat at this game?” Since Nirin winning only meant Sterren answering some impersonal questions, it was not as though it was some enormous loss. Still, it was unbearably boring for all the men who had come for a good time.

In one round, someone claimed the matching rune Kiol had his eyes on. There were four of each rune so it did not necessarily mean he was lying, and Nirin didn’t move at all meaning he must not have been. But that left Kiol without a match. He placed a card at random and in a flash, Nirin had tapped it. Several others had jumped to do so, but of course Nirin was first.

“Why didn’t you tap it the first time I lost?” Kiol signed, annoyed.

“I tried,” Nirin replied. “You pulled me away.”

“Oh yeah,” Kiol murmured.

“What the hell are they saying?” a player asked Caelin. She shrugged. “Well, what’s the favor, tell us the favor!”

“You have to answer a question,” Kiol reminded Sterren. “Uh, Master,” he added in after thought. He was annoyed that he was starting to get used to it and it didn’t feel so weird.

“No, no,” Sterren replied. “That’s only for winning against my associates. You’re not in my party, this is between you two.” And he gave Kiol the most shit-eating grin he’d ever seen that it took him conscious willpower not to punch the man in the face.

“He doesn’t have a favor,” Kiol said, turning back to the table. “Let’s play the next round.”

“No, there has to be a favor! Come on, this is the first time something interesting can happen!”

“Yeah, hurry up and do it!”

Kiol looked down at Nirin with a sigh. He was not worried, the boy would likely just tell him to give him a coin or something that he’d return later. But his words made Kiol’s soul seize. Nirin pointed to the cart of treats in the corner before he signed, “Feed me one of those.”


	16. Chapter Fifteen

“What did he say?”

“Yeah, what do you gotta do?”

“Why?” Kiol signed to Nirin.

Nirin’s smile was gentle and mischievous and adorable. “I won, so I can choose the favor, right?”

“Why something like that, though?”

“I’m hungry.” Nirin blinked up at him innocuously. Kiol narrowed his eyes, not buying the innocent act. He could see the others were still jeering at them. It was better to get it over with. He picked out a steamed rice cake with sweet bean paste in the middle, smelling it discreetly to be sure it had no meat.

Everyone else watched in trapped anticipation when Kiol returned, finding it even more captivating when they didn’t know what favor had been set. Kiol stopped in front of the boy and sighed.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he signed accusingly. Nirin just kept smiling. Kiol raised the rice cake and Nirin opened his mouth, leaning closer to accept it. The group burst into unconstrained laughter, slapping and grabbing at each other as they howled.

“He made him feed him!”

“~~~ that’s like one of your favors!”

“Mine are even more degrading than that, he’s lucky I didn’t tap his card! I wouldn’t go easy on him!”

Nirin’s lips were precariously close to his fingers. For some reason Kiol’s entire body tingled, like a million needles were pricking him. He should have dropped it into Nirin’s mouth and hastily retreated but he found he couldn’t, instead placing the cake gingerly on Nirin’s soft pink tongue like a florist adding one final flower to an arrangement. Nirin’s lips closed and he chewed it thoughtfully.

“Delicious,” he signed. “You chose well.”

“Is it?” Kiol signed back, wondering if he should try one himself. But when he looked over at the cart he inevitably caught sight of the others still shouting around the table and his reality was yanked harshly back into the room, bursting the peaceful world of just him and Nirin. Even Caelin was holding back a smile. Heat spread from his collar up his neck. “Next round,” he said loudly, feigning annoyance to cover his embarrassment, not for the first time since he met Nirin, which annoyed him for real.

The game got harder as it went on, most everyone having to lie. Kiol hadn’t been keeping track of what runes were already claimed so even if he wanted to try tapping a liar he would be guessing blind while others were making educated moves. For Nirin, of course, it didn’t matter. He continued to win and soon enough they had all their questions answered.

“No, no, you have to finish the game!” Sterren pleaded as they started to leave.

“No they don’t,” another protested.

“Let them go, boss, that boy ruined the fun!”

Kiol was leaving no matter what anyway. Somehow the brothel didn’t seem like such a bad place to be anymore. The cramped streets that had seemed so dark and unclean before were a welcome burst of light and fresh air.

He examined the money-lender's route and the alley on the way. Like Idretis said, the alley stunk of blood and gore, filled with offal from the butcher shop. Stray dogs were fighting over a pheasant carcass that was little more than bone, but then again the dogs weren’t much better themselves. Like all the stray dogs in the east district, they ignored humans until they were specifically targeted and chased away, but Kiol didn’t care enough and left the dogs to their fight. He’d seen what he needed to, anyway. The alleyway did only have the one exit and all three walls were made by tall buildings that couldn’t be easily climbed over or jumped down from.

Kiol stopped outside the brothel, remembering the madam’s words. _“If you find such a boy, invite him to meet me.”_ The hair on the back of his neck stood up. From the corner of his vision he saw Nirin look at him peculiarly and he looked away even though it wouldn’t obscure anything from Nirin’s observation. He opened his mouth, about to tell him to stay outside, but then he remembered where they were. Both the street and the business were not good places to leave him unattended. And besides, Kiol needed him to witness the questions so Nirin could take whatever insights from her reactions.

“Stay between me and Caelin,” Kiol told him. “Don’t wander.” He looked to Caelin to be sure she understood too and she nodded. On his own, someone as cute and pretty as Nirin would be crushed under the wave of solicitation. Between two uniformed soldiers, only the most daring would approach. Naturally, in such a place, there were plenty of those. As Kiol led the way through the now unfortunately familiar rooms, he told off half a dozen people and had to keep a constant glower on his face to ward off plenty more.

Unlike the other victims, the madam had not bothered to increase security. She was in the same room with the same four guards, giving orders or reprimand to the staff bowing before her. When they left she gestured Kiol closer but he only took a few more steps into the room. “And what are you back for?” she asked. Kiol was calculating how to speak when Caelin stepped up and spoke for him.

“Idretis was returning from a meeting with you when he was attacked by thugs.”

Madam blinked. “So?”

“What was the meeting about?” Caelin asked. Kiol appreciated that she stood in front of him but turned enough that he could see her mouth. Very few others were as considerate even knowing his handicap.

“Money, of course.”

“Did you owe him money?”

“My dear, you don’t have a business like mine without owing and being owed some money.”

“Some?” Caelin prompted.

“Some,” Madam repeated, eyebrows twitching up as though daring her to question further. “I’m not about to open my finances for your prying eyes, soldiers or not.”

Caelin had gone quiet so Kiol butt in. “How long?”

“Excuse me?” The woman turned her high eyebrows to him, putting her hands on her hips.

“Your dealings with Idretis,” he clarified.

“Oh. Years, now. Perhaps… even a decade?” She waved her hand in front of her face as though swatting the question away like an annoying fly. “I don’t know, what does it matter?”

“So you’re familiar with him?” Kiol asked.

“I wouldn’t say familiar,” she scoffed. “We’ve long been associates, yes.”

Kiol gave Caelin a look and was surprised when she picked up on it. “The thugs that attacked him were recognized as frequent clients here,” she said, taking over again. “Did you recognize any of them when they were here?”

Madam sniffed. “I didn’t look too closely, to be honest.”

From the corner of his vision Kiol saw Nirin’s head lift as though something caught his interest. Kiol narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Think harder,” he said. She turned an unimpressed look to him.

“A lot of men—and women—come in here. I see a lot of faces, inside and outside my house. I suppose some of them looked familiar, but that doesn’t mean they were clients, let alone frequent ones.”

“She knows more—” Nirin signed, but stopped abruptly when the madam turned to him. Kiol didn’t know what startled him enough to stop him mid-sentence, but given how he seemed incapable of being surprised, it didn’t sit well.

Madam spoke before Kiol could. “You found him then?” She turned a sharp smile to Kiol. “I’m surprised such a boy exists.” She moved closer and Nirin shifted back, pressing closer to Kiol. He placed himself between them, scowling at the madam, but her smile hadn’t changed. “Many of my patrons would pay a high price for such beauty, in male form no less. Unbreakable silence on top of that? You could be rich in one night, my dear.” She tilted her head inquisitively at Nirin even as he shrank further behind Kiol. “What do you say? I’ll find you a nice, gentle client and we can split the commission.” Delicate, pleading fingers curled into the back of Kiol’s shirt.

“Stop,” Kiol said, his tone so sharp and dangerous that it worked. She stepped back and held up her palms placatingly.

“It was just an offer. I can’t pass up a good opportunity when I see one, can I?”

“You can,” Kiol growled. The madam laughed.

“You say because you have no business acumen, soldier.”

Caelin had inched closer as well, helping to stand guard before Nirin. “Enough of this,” she said, though rather uncertain, casting a wary glance in Kiol’s direction. “Did you recognize any of the thugs or not?”

“Well there were quite a lot of them, of course I recognized some. But I couldn’t tell you who they were.” She scooped her hair over one shoulder and sat down on the low sofa, crossing her legs. She leaned on an elbow, cheek propped up by her hand, and smiled at them. “I suppose they may have been patrons and recognized Idretis when he stopped by. That they shook him up is not my problem, and certainly not my fault, he should have hired better protection. If you’re insinuating I sent them after him myself, I can tell you now that you’re wrong. Idretis and I have a good relationship and a good understanding. And even if we didn’t, I wouldn’t resort to such uncivilized tactics. Are we done here?”

Kiol looked at Caelin and she looked back. Neither could think of any more questions to ask. And Nirin was still clinging to Kiol in such helpless desperation that he felt his own legs weaken. “For now,” he assented. He turned around and grabbed one of Nirin’s hands, holding too tightly to it as he walked out. He must have had such a dark look on his face that this time no one had the guts to approach as they passed through the house.

Once outside Nirin tried to tug his hand free but Kiol didn’t let go. He kept a relentless grip on the boy until they were out of the east district entirely and in quieter streets. Then he stopped walking and turned to the others.

“She was lying,” Kiol said, though it was more a question for Nirin.

“I think so, too,” Caelin said.

“Not lying,” Nirin signed. “But she knows more than she said. And she knows sign-speak.”

“She knows sign-speak?” Kiol repeated, incredulous. Nirin nodded.

“The madam does?” Caelin asked. She looked between them. “Can you teach me sign-speak?” she asked.

Nirin nodded at the same time Kiol said, “No.” The corner of Caelin’s lips twitched up.

“Why do you want to learn?” Kiol asked.

“Well it’s handy, isn’t it? Being able to communicate without making a sound, in a language not many others know. And spending all day with you two I’ve gotten tired of being left out. Plus it’ll be easier for you, won’t it?”

“Easier?” Kiol asked blankly.

“Talking to me.”

He curled his lip. “We’re not friends.”

“We’re kind of friends.”

“We’re not,” he repeated flatly. Caelin smiled. He turned around. “Let’s go back.” Corva was probably losing her mind by now, anyway.

They saw Nirin safely to the inn before parting ways at the martial temple. Kiol had to figure out the next step. How could he learn how the thugs knew about the soldiers—if they had known at all? If they were clients of the brothel, surely some of the courtesans would have known them. But the madam would tell them to keep their mouths shut, if she hadn’t already. He really should have questioned others while they were there but he’d been so focused on getting Nirin as far away as possible. Maybe that had been the madam’s plan all along; she didn’t care about any ‘business opportunity.’ He clenched his jaw and his fists with enough force to crack stone. This wasn’t his _skill_, he was shit at this kind of work. Surely Ruadhan had someone he trusted enough to do this, who could do it significantly better and faster than Kiol.

Well, at least he had predesignated targets for his anger. He interrogated the impostors for another hour each. Reopening old wounds was almost worse than creating them in the first place, but they still wouldn’t talk. He even asked them what they were afraid of talking for, offered help to protect them from whatever it was, and they wouldn’t take it.

When he put the second back in his cell, he noticed the vendors still hadn’t been touched.

“Has anyone questioned them?” Kiol asked the guard on duty.

“Not on my shift,” he said, and looked to his companion. He shook his head too.

“Who’s been given permission to interrogate them?”

“No one,” the guards said. Meaning only the Temple General. Ruadhan must have been too busy. With one meal a day, which typically consisted of a bowl of porridge, the vendors were already looking gaunt. They likely wouldn’t survive an interrogation. Kiol couldn’t believe he was actually considering ways to help them escape. After even Nirin had told him not to.

But if he spoke to Creator, surely she could get them out somehow. She was the “One True God” after all. But how could he reach her? Especially now... he wouldn’t be able to leave the city without arousing Ruadhan’s suspicion, and neither could Nirin.

He returned to his room and for the first time in a long time, lit the lamp on the wall so that he wasn’t sitting in darkness. He took the seat by his desk and stared at its surface, his mind turning over nonstop as though going through the exact same details enough would magically make a new possibility appear.

It felt like he’d hit the end of the road with the thugs. He could question the brothel workers but at this point he had little hope it would lead anywhere else. He had to get back to following his actual mission, anyway. All this had felt like some sort of practice, though. He realized he needed to ask more questions of Ruadhan than he had. _If you can question._ Dammit, dammit, dammit! The archivist was dead and, Kiol assumed by now, replaced. The letter was gone. The painting was gone—he’d checked. Likely turned to ash if Ruadhan was that upset about its existence that he’d kill a “friend” over it. Kiol was supposed to forget about it, pretend he hadn’t seen anything. That’s what he was good at, forgetting, not caring. Lately it had been taking more and more effort.

Kiol stood so abruptly it crashed his chair over. He didn’t bother fixing it before walking to Ruadhan’s quarters. He wasn’t in his office. Kiol went immediately to the man’s bed chambers but paused outside the door. He hadn’t been in there for six years, maybe more. Back when Ruadhan heard his reports over tea and actually cared about the details, forced Kiol to self-reflect and gave him suggestions and advice to improve. When he would casually pull out another cup to replace the one Kiol always, inevitably, broke; not saying a word or appearing the slightest bit agitated as he personally cleaned up the mess. When Kiol had returned from that pivotal mission he had reported to Ruadhan in his office, and that was how it had been every time since.

He raised his fist to knock on the door but it opened before he could and Ruadhan stood in the doorway, framed by the sun setting in the window behind him. He still appeared as put-together as always, his black hair sleeked back and his gold-and-gray uniform pristine.

“Have you made progress then?” he asked.

Kiol hesitated. “Maybe. I have questions for you, though.” The words coming from his mouth, right to Ruadhan’s face, felt akin to slapping the man. But Ruadhan wasn’t put off. He moved aside, opening the door wider. “Come in, then.”

Kiol stepped inside and paused. “Oh,” he said, the sound dying on his lips. He started to turn around. “I can come another time.”

Ruadhan had already shut the door. “Now is fine,” the man said, gesturing to the low tea table in the center of the room. Kiol took a deep breath through his nose and turned back around to sit cross-legged and rigid on the floor. Across the table in his usual elegant, wide-sleeved robe, the Archbishop gracefully poured another cup of tea.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Ruadhan sat between them and Hida passed the freshly poured tea to Kiol. He accepted it sourly and placed it on the table without taking a sip.

The old man regarded Kiol with his usual compassionate disappointment. His sign-speak was as careful and manicured as the rest of him. “Have you been well these past weeks, Kiol?”

“Fine,” Kiol replied, sitting stock straight and immobile, barely even moving his lips.

Ruadhan lifted his teacup and swirled the tea around inside it. “Your questions, then?”

Kiol didn’t want to ask with the Archbishop there, but there was no reason not to. They weren’t confidential questions and even if they were, Ruadhan would have said the Archbishop was trusted enough for any of that. “How many soldiers did you take down?”

“Sixteen,” Ruadhan replied, and sipped his tea.

“How many men and women?”

“All men.”

“When was the first report of them?”

“Four days ago.” And Ruadhan had taken them all down earlier yesterday. Kiol paused to consider his next question but Ruadhan spoke first. “You’ve already improved.”

Kiol’s eyes shifted to him, not daring to let his sudden racing heart show on his face.

_“What improvements you’ve made, Kiol. I’m glad to see you utilizing your talents properly. Tell me your strategies for this next mission.”_ Back then Ruadhan was sitting across from him, handing a plate of fruit slices over with one hand while scanning Kiol’s most recent assignment report with the other.

Current-Ruadhan understood Kiol’s blank stare and elaborated. “You’re finally asking questions. I did tell you you’d figure it out.”

It couldn’t have been more different. Back then, Ruadhan would have offered detailed advice on how to best tackle a problem, not leave him to blindly stumble upon solutions and learn by making critical mistakes. With Ruadhan’s guidance he would have never abandoned a line of questioning at such a crucial time like he had in the brothel.

Kiol glanced at Hida still watching them both with keen interest. Kiol shrugged. “Yeah,” was all he said in response to Ruadhan’s half-compliment. “Do you have a report?”

“I did not give a report to the delegator. I told you I don’t know who I can trust in this situation. You’ll have to continue questioning. But please do go on, I’ll answer any you have.”

Kiol stared down at the table. He would have preferred to read all this, and without the Archbishop’s eyes on him. “They were all over the city?” he pressed on.

“They were concentrated in the south-west but yes, all over.”

“How were they terrorizing civilians?”

“They’d patrol as though normal soldiers before going into a store or up to a vendor and robbing them. They attacked or killed anyone who got in their way, especially my soldiers.”

So they were all men and bothering businesses, like the thugs were. That wasn’t particularly noteworthy, though. Vendors were easy targets and the most vulnerable to such strategies. The soldier sect had almost as many women as men, so an accurate fraud would want similar ratios, but if the impostors were spread out Kiol supposed it wouldn’t matter. But it may have offered a clue about where the impostors were recruited from.

“And the first report… who and where in the city?”

“South end, on Second Street off Main. A widow’s quilt shop was robbed by what she identified as soldiers.”

Kiol perked up. “Soldiers? More than one?”

“Yes. They were in groups of three, just like our patrols.”

The soldier that had attacked him had been alone. “So five patrols, except the one I fought was the sixteenth?”

Ruadhan finished his tea and put it down. “Yes.”

Why would one soldier go after him? He thought of the tainted charm still in his pocket. If real soldiers were working alongside the impostors… Was someone targeting him specifically?

Ruadhan watched him. When Kiol didn’t say anything else he asked, “Is that all?”

Kiol nodded and started to stand. Ruadhan held out a hand to stop him. Kiol grit his teeth and sank back down.

“Since you’re here,” Hida signed, “I thought we could talk about your avoiding worship.” He gestured as though he could fan Kiol’s grievances away before they even began. “I know your excuse, you needn’t say it again and I needn’t go through—again—why Creator’s current… condition does not allow one to shirk their spiritual responsibilities. We are all Creator’s children and we must strive to reach the enlightenment She desires for us, to follow the path She has set for us. You especially need to focus on such cultivation, to undress the darkness that your duties instill in you.”

Hida said he didn’t need to say it but he did anyway. Kiol sighed into his teeth and looked away. But with Ruadhan there he couldn’t avoid it. There was nothing to look at in the stark room anyway, except the golden tops of trees outside the window.

He decided to speak before Hida could continue his lecture. “I will go to worship after this mission is done.” Usually such promise was enough to placate the man but today he shook his head.

“Ruadhan has informed me that you are working closely with a cultist.” Someone might as well have dumped frigid water over Kiol’s head. He didn’t dare say anything and stared at the Archbishop as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “I worry about what nonsense he will lead you to believe. I’d like you to attend me every morning for the next few weeks.”

So it would be like the days when Hida taught Kiol sign-speak. The infuriating long hours he spent in private lesson with the insufferable old man. Hida used it as opportunity not just to teach Kiol to sign, but to lecture him about spirituality and force him to work on his calligraphy. It had been miserable.

“No,” Kiol said. Hida’s eyebrows shot up and the man blinked a few times.

“No?” he repeated.

“I don’t want to cultivate. The boy isn’t leading me to believe anything.”

Hida narrowed his eyes and returned to sign-speak. “It would be in your best interest, Kiol. I would reconsider.” He signed the last sentence with extra emphasis.

Kiol pressed his lips together and stared at the teapot in intense thought. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ve reconsidered.” The Archbishop blinked again. “Answer’s still no.” Kiol stood and walked out the door.

He had a feeling Caelin, if not Corva, would be looking for him, so he didn’t want to stay in the temple. Plus Hida might also seek him out again if he stayed. He changed into civilian clothes then left through a window by the back of the temple grounds.

He had casually walked into Nirin’s room so often now that it seemed natural. He caught a glimpse of loose hair and bare skin and countless scars before he whipped himself around and almost ran straight into the door, forgetting he had already closed it. He stared at it instead, trying to calm his breathing while not dwelling on the details he’d just seen. The robes crumpled on the ground. The vivid black hair draped over a pale white shoulder. The latticework of scars that covered his arm.

Not dwelling. Not dwelling. Kiol breathed through his nose and out through his mouth and stared too intensely at the door. A touch on his sleeve made him skitter away and Nirin pulled his hand back.

“Sorry,” he signed. He was dressed now, in the robes Kiol had bought him, but his hair was still unpinned.

“No, no,” Kiol signed quickly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry—I’m sorry. I didn’t—I should have—”

“It’s okay,” Nirin signed. But the way he didn’t smile, not even a little, Kiol really thought it wasn’t okay. But he didn’t know what he could do to fix it. Nirin had turned around anyway, returning to the basin he’d been washing in and lifting the comb that was beside it. He scraped it through his hair and for some reason, even though Nirin was clothed now and not doing anything private, Kiol still felt like he had to avert his eyes. He stared at the window, but the lattice covering just made him think of those scars. Now Kiol knew they covered his legs and arms, but not his torso. He had no right to know such a thing, let alone think about it. He stared at the table instead.

Nirin twisted and braided and pinned up his hair in a similar half-up half-down style as usual. Then he stowed away the comb and extra pins inside his outer robe and started to lift the basin. Kiol brought his attention back at that and hurried over to take it from him.

“Don’t do that, that’s what the staff are for,” he chastised, but brought it out to the hall himself anyway. Nirin stood in the same spot when he returned, watching him. Kiol swallowed his guilt and discomfort. “Really… it’s my fault. I’ll leave if you want.”

Nirin shook his head. “I said it’s okay,” he signed. “I wanted to wash before putting on new clothes.”

“Yes… of course. Of course, yes.” Kiol cleared his throat. “The tailor finished them,” he said, “that’s good. They look good. They’re good.” The corner of Nirin’s lips twitched up and Kiol immediately grinned as well, relieved even if the smile was so quick and at his expense.

“You’re hungry,” Nirin signed. He was. He hadn’t eaten since the morning.

“Oh—I thought…” Kiol crossed his arms and looked away. “I thought we could eat. Together. We don’t have to. I just didn’t want to eat at the temple.”

Nirin nodded. “Yes, let’s eat.”

“I’m not feeding you,” Kiol said. Nirin gave a real smile at that.

“That’s unfortunate. It improved the experience quite a lot.”

In mid-afternoon the streets were quiet and lazy. It was before dinner time and chilly even so late in the day at this point in the season. Some ladies chatted in doorways and children played games but it wasn’t bustling with people going about errands or shopkeepers trying to lure others to buy their wares. Nirin wandered off and Kiol halted to watch him walk up to the small store selling fruits and vegetables.

He went over as well, sweeping his gaze across the display of fruit. Given the late season, it was only apples, pears, and one type of berry. A bored-looking woman wrapped in a shawl came from the store. “Would you like anything?” Before Nirin could reply, a group of kids ran past and one of them bumped hard into him. Kiol gripped Nirin’s shoulders to steady him, glaring at the boy who had not even stopped, but Nirin had another wrist in his hands. The unkempt girl he caught started struggling but he calmly restrained her, not caring about the dirt she got on his sleeves.

Kiol had seen her reaching for a fruit too, but he wasn’t going to say anything. The woman behind the display slapped the table and spat on the ground. “You disgusting vermin!” she cursed at the girl. “The lot of you are the same! Disgusting thieves!”

Nirin reached over and picked up a pear. He handed it to the girl and she stopped struggling, staring wide-eyed at it. One at a time Nirin gave her three more, enough for all four children. He let her go and she sprinted off without a word, following the other three who had long since run away. Then Nirin pulled out his pouch and counted out money for the shopkeeper.

“You shouldn’t help those brats,” the woman said as she accepted the money with a scowl. “It only encourages them and then they’ll be homeless and lazy for the rest of their lives. Let the temple deal with them.”

“She’s right,” Kiol said, scooping up a handful of berries. “You should ignore them.” He pretended not to notice the concerned curious look Nirin gave him, paid for the berries, and started back down the street. He popped one in his mouth then held the berries out for Nirin to take one. “You knew they were going to do that,” he said casually. “That’s why you went over, isn’t it?” He glanced sidelong at Nirin but the boy didn’t reply, only taking another berry.

They sat on the second floor of a restaurant, by the window because of Kiol’s insistence so he could see both the stairwell and outside. He ordered probably too much food and ate the main dishes while Nirin picked at the vegetable and tofu sides.

“You have a lot of money,” Kiol said after he’d filled his stomach enough to stop its ache. “Were you busking again?” Nirin looked up at him and Kiol frowned. “Stop doing that, it’s dangerous. And degrading. I’ll give you money.”

Nirin set aside his chopsticks. “I don’t need money,” he signed.

“Then why are you busking?!”

“I cannot walk up and start conversations with people. But they will with me if I do that.”

“Why the hell would you _want_ to have conversations with people?” Kiol signed.

“To know them.”

Kiol wrinkled his nose. After a second he signed, “Why were you at those ruins that day?” He didn’t need to specify more than that.

“To see if those people could be trusted with Creator’s mission.”

Kiol had already suspected that exact reason but he wanted to be sure. It did make sense; of course rebels would be a good source of recruits, if Creator wanted to dismantle the Society they already shared that goal. He stabbed at a dumpling on his plate with his chopsticks. “Why are you helping me?”

“You’ve been helping me,” Nirin pointed out.

“Yes but not… not with something like this.”

“But you will.” Kiol looked up. Nirin was watching him, eyes unreadable.

Kiol put down his chopsticks. “Is that why?” he signed. “That’s why you’ve been letting me stick around? Because I could become some loyal follower for Creator?”

“No,” Nirin signed. “It’s because I like you.”

Kiol froze, but for some reason his mouth didn’t and he blurted out, “Why?”

Nirin smiled and tilted his head, bringing a pickled radish to his mouth before signing, “To dislike a person, you need a reason. But I don’t think you need a reason to like someone, sometimes you just do. All the small details become something important and precious and unexplainable, and more than anything, you don’t want them to leave your side.” Kiol stared at Nirin’s nonchalant smile, his throat and chest constricted to stone.

“That’s stupid,” he whispered.

“It is,” Nirin agreed, his smile unfaded, and he ate another pickle. Ruadhan had been so confident that Nirin would help him, despite thinking he was a cultist. How had he known? It wouldn’t be because he knew Nirin “liked” him.

Kiol was gripping his pants too hard under the table. He forced himself to relax his grip and gladly steered the conversation away from the previous topic. “Do you know Ruadhan? I mean… did you meet him before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He really seemed to know you.” Even though Ruadhan himself had said he hadn’t been introduced to Nirin before, but that didn’t mean anything.

“He did,” Nirin signed. Kiol lifted his gaze back up from the table and furrowed his brows. “He knew me.”

“Like… like _you_ know, with your gift…?”

“No, just normal knowing I think. It… it was hard to read him. He was mostly hate and resentment. But that’s why…” Nirin paused, uneasy. “You need a reason to dislike a person,” he signed again. “I don’t think anyone could hate another so strongly without knowing them.”

“He knows you’re God-gifted. Maybe he hates you because you gifted something to Creator?” Speaking of… “Creator seemed to know him too,” Kiol signed thoughtfully.

“She does.”

Despite the topic, Kiol couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. On the surface Nirin’s gift sounded useless, but really… it was even better than his. “Do you know how she knows him?” Nirin shook his head. Kiol started to sign but hesitated. In the end he lowered his hands, and though Nirin looked curious, he didn’t ask. Kiol was glad, because it was obvious Ruadhan didn’t want anyone to know about his… what? Immortality? And if Nirin knew it would just be further incentive for Ruadhan to kill him.

A silence stretched between them. They both ate a few more things but the meal had long been over.

“You want to question civilians,” Nirin finally signed. Even though it was a statement, Kiol shook his head.

“It’s too late now. We’ll start tomorrow morning.”

“Is it too late? The sun hasn’t gone down.”

Kiol stared at his plate. So much had happened this day that he really just didn’t want to do more. Nirin resumed eating without saying another word. When they were officially done Kiol paid and they walked slower back to the inn. They were only a street away when Nirin stopped walking. He stared forward for a second before turning around to look at the homeless man they’d just passed.

He was cross-legged with one elbow resting on a knee and his chin propped on his fist, watching the two with bright eyes. Kiol hadn’t paid him much attention; despite being the nicer part of the city, the Society was generous to the homeless and so they were often around. But now that Kiol looked he realized that despite the rags the man wore, he was clean shaven and his hair was cut too cleanly to truly appear homeless.

Nirin walked over and Kiol instantly followed, all his focus on alert. The man didn’t have a violent aura but it was not exactly a pleasant one either.

“Good evening, Nirin,” he said, straightening when they were close and gripping his ankles almost playfully. “How have you been these past four years?”

Nirin inclined his head in greeting. “I’ve been well,” he signed. “And you, Emalen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy I wish AO3 had a schedule-post option. I completely forgot to update here sorry. Holidays were crazy. Not that anyone is reading this but!! I still prefer to stick to routines.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**|| TW: mention and suggestion of rape, torture, and violent death ||**

Kiol remembered that name. Nirin had mentioned it before… wasn’t that one of the new cult leaders? The enforcer or something? Kiol eyed the man. He didn’t look particularly strong, but if he stood up Kiol thought he’d be very tall. Taller than Ruadhan, even.

“Oh I’ve been fine, just fine.” The man tilted his head, almost like Nirin except it had none of the adorable inquisitiveness, only arrogant slyness. “Did you get my note?”

Nirin blinked slowly at him, then felt in his sleeve and pulled out a small folded paper.

“You sent those kids?” Kiol asked. Emalen looked at him then turned back to Nirin as though Kiol hadn’t said anything. Kiol looked too, peering over Nirin’s shoulder to read the note. Only, he couldn’t. It was a line of runes in nonsensical order. Nirin calmly folded the paper and put it in his robe.

“We heard you were interested in the soldiers. Thought we could help out.” That caught Kiol’s attention, not that he’d let it slip for a second this whole time. But he didn’t want to interrupt.

“Thank you,” Nirin signed.

Emalen lifted a finger to stop Nirin from continuing, not that he was going to. “We’d like a favor in return. I know you didn’t really have any interest in coming back. But Tori has requested your skills, so when you’re done helping this dog, you’ll report to us.”

Nirin stiffened at the word ‘dog’ and didn’t reply for a few seconds. “I don’t know where you are now.”

“We’ll pop over to the old spot if you send a message.”

Nirin nodded slowly and Kiol frowned. “You’re going to help them?” he signed, disgusted. “This is my assignment, don’t get caught up in this shit for me.” He turned to Emalen. “We don’t need your help or your stupid favors.”

“Too late,” Emalen said, a smile plastered on his face. “It’s already been given.”

Nirin put a soothing hand on Kiol’s arm. Then he bowed to Emalen and walked off. Kiol glowered at the man for another few seconds but his ire was simply met with that unconcerned smile. He stalked off after Nirin.

“Let me go with you,” Kiol said.

“No,” Nirin signed. “They won’t do anything to me. And they really do need my help with something important.”

“With what?”

“I don’t know yet. I don’t think it’s cult related.”

Kiol couldn’t tell if that was true or if Nirin was just saying it so he wouldn’t worry. He sighed and crossed his arms. “What did the note say?”

“It was a location in the east side of the city. Perhaps we should start our questions there tomorrow.”

“What was the location?” Kiol signed. His face fell. “If it’s that brothel, I swear—”

“It wasn’t,” Nirin signed, unable to stop his smile at Kiol’s exasperation. “It was the south-east. I’m not sure what’s there.”

.

This time Kiol knocked on Nirin’s door and waited for the boy to open it. He was ready to leave anyway so they started out. The location was a morgue, its signboard painted with the faded runes of _Death - Afterlife - Peace_. The city had two official morgues and this wasn’t one of them. No one built over the top of morgues, but this building had others encroaching over and against it, meaning it hadn’t originally been a death house. It was small and the knobby man who greeted them did not wear any gems on his belt to indicate a position in the Society. He opened the door but did not let them through, looking them up and down.

“What’s your purpose coming here?” he asked. That was a strange greeting. Morticians should have assumed someone at their door was either looking to identify a body or had one to drop off.

“Looking for someone,” Kiol said. “Wasn’t in the city morgues.”

“Well they’re not here,” the mortician said and began closing the door. Kiol caught it and held it open easily.

“We’ll check,” he said and pushed the door open, knocking the mortician aside with the movement. He stepped in before the man had time to fix himself. Nirin came in after, bowing his head in apology and gratitude as he passed the threshold. Kiol descended into the chilly underbelly of the house, lined with stones to keep it cool. It was a small cellar, with five bodies lain across two tables.

Kiol lifted the sheets to see the bodies as the mortician hurried down the stairs after them. He was saying something but Kiol paid him no mind. All five were female and had died brutally. All different ages. The oldest appeared to be somewhere over fifty but the majority were in their twenties or thirties. Morgues were temporary places for corpses; especially as they were embalmed they should have been gone.

“Who are these women?” Kiol asked. The mortician scowled and said nothing. “Where did they come from?”

“I thought you were looking for someone,” the man sneered.

“Yes, you. To answer my questions. How did these women die?” The mortician kept his mouth shut. Kiol strode over and slammed him against the stone by his neck, and the man’s reticence dissolved just like that. He clawed at Kiol’s arm until he was released and he gasped for breath, obscuring whatever he said. Kiol tilted his face towards Nirin to read the translation.

“They were brought to me and I was paid a hefty sum to take them and keep quiet.”

“Brought by who?”

“I don’t know. A man brought them on a cart.”

“When?”

“Fi—six days ago.”

“How did they die?”

“Raped and mutilated, by the looks of it. Died from the blood loss.” Kiol stared down at the man, working his jaw. He must have thought Kiol was angry at him, as he raised his arms pleadingly. “I had nothing to do with it! This work pays barely enough to survive, I needed the money! All I did was take some bodies, that’s my job anyway!”

“Shut up,” Kiol spat, and turned around. Nirin was lifting a sheet. Kiol snatched his wrist before it could expose the body underneath. “Don’t look,” he said sharply.

Nirin gave him a gentle stare. “I’ve seen worse,” he signed. Kiol hadn’t felt the cold before but it rushed to him now, bumping his skin and raising his hair. Of course Nirin had seen gruesome deaths, Kiol had left him surrounded by dozens years ago. But the abhorrent depravity of this violence was almost too much for even Kiol to stomach. “I want to rest them,” Nirin signed.

Kiol clenched his jaw. “Fine. Let me move the sheets.” He carefully brought each one down so that it exposed only the tops of the women’s faces. With a steady hand, Nirin traced three runes across each of their foreheads. _Love - Grief - Peace_. The ritual was supposed to be done by the dead’s loved ones. If the souls were not told they would be mourned and missed, they would stay trapped in the bodies forever, restless and anguished. If they had no loved ones, a stranger’s genuine message could work too. It was a priest’s job to rest the unloved dead. But the tenderness with which Nirin wrote, the mist that wet his eyelashes, Kiol thought he must have been more effective than any priest.

He finished the task and Kiol gently covered the faces back up. Nirin stood between the two tables, staring listlessly at the ground, his eyes still wet. Kiol hesitated, then reached out and gripped his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said clumsily. “You, uh. You did good, kid.”

Nirin brushed the tears away. “Five,” he signed. “Five bodies. There were five thugs, originally. Do you think they're connected?”

“Yeah,” Kiol said. That was his thought too.

“What does it mean?”

Kiol took his hand back and sighed. “I think I know.”

He returned to the prison with Ruadhan in tow. The guards would only listen to the Temple General’s order to leave. With the prison empty and the door locked, Kiol dragged one of the impostors out.

“Who did they threaten to mutilate?” Kiol asked. The man stared at him, silent as always. But when Kiol continued his defiance slipped. “Your mother? Wife? Daughter?” The man clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. “There’s no other soldiers here,” Kiol pointed out. “No one to tell on you. If you tell us who is in danger we’ll find them and keep them safe.”

“It’s not that easy,” the impostor groaned. “I don’t know where they are. You can’t find them, you won’t find them in time.”

“Them?” Kiol prompted.

“The rebels,” the man whispered.

“Rebels have your daughter?” Kiol asked.

He shook his head. “My family.”

“Rebels have your entire family?” How could they kidnap sixteen families without it being known? Friends, neighbors, co-workers, they would have noticed and reported such a thing.

“No.” The man’s head hung low and Kiol had to crouch down to see his words. “They are my family.”

“Your family is threatening your daughter?” Kiol was just getting more confused but the man shook his head again. He gripped the man’s head and forced it upright. “Speak clearly,” he said. “Who are ‘they’ and who are they threatening?”

“They’re rebels. We—we’re rebels. My family.”

“So the fake soldiers are rebels’ doing?” The man nodded. “But if you’re a rebel then why did they need to threaten you?”

“It was a suicide mission. We knew even then. And if—when… when we were captured, she wanted to make sure we wouldn’t talk.”

“She?”

The dried blood on the man’s face was starting to streak again with his tears. He was blubbering and Kiol struggled to follow his words. “They don’t know. They don’t know what she’s promised to do to Lerina—my, my wife. They trust her—they still trust her.”

“Trust who?”

“Domora.”

Kiol recognized the name. He recognized it enough to understand it being spoken, but he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. He looked over at Ruadhan standing by the wall.

“The owner of the largest brothel in the city,” he said. Kiol closed his eyes and shook his head. Of course. But at least his instincts had been right. He shook the impostor to bring him back to reality.

“Did some of the others ignore her threats? Five of them?” The man sniffed and nodded tearfully. “So the threats were followed through. Why didn’t the rest of their families report the missing member?”

“I told—I told you, they trust her. They don’t know. She told them when we— when we left, that we were on a mission and—and that we wouldn’t return for a long time. She must have… she must have done something—something similar to get the others without suspicion.”

“We’ll find them,” Kiol promised, but the man only continued sobbing. If he was a rebel though, and his family were rebels, didn’t that mean they’d become prisoners anyway, and likely die in this very place? No wonder the men wouldn’t talk. Not only would the person they loved most be killed with unimaginable violence, but the rest of their family would be caught as rebels. The best option was to take the suffering yourself.

“It’s too late,” the man was muttering. “It’s too late anyway. Too late. Please, God, please—go now. Please save her. By Creator’s name, please.”

Too late? Kiol whipped around to face Ruadhan. So that’s why the man had finally spoken. When they kicked the guards out, whichever soldiers were working with the rebels would assume the worst and were going to inform Domora already. The man would rather his wife die by martial torture than _that_ promised depravity.

Ruadhan gave a nod, calm and collected as always, and walked out the door. Kiol brought the man back to his cell. The other was screaming and beating upon the bars of his own, fists bloody and raw from his efforts. He must have been screaming that whole time and Kiol hadn’t known—yelling for the other not to speak and doom both their families.

The man Kiol put back curled up on the cold ground, hugging his head. Kiol locked the cell and sprinted after Ruadhan.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Ruadhan walked at an easy pace and Kiol caught up to him in no time. The general barely gave him a glance before signing. “Go on ahead. Kill who you need to, except Domora. Leave her for me.”

“Yessir,” Kiol said, and ran. He was relieved to have orders, even happier to finally be allowed freedom. He had already changed into his full uniform and belt before going to the prison so all he needed to do was ready his sword.

He killed the front guards before they even knew that he was attacking. Pretty soon he was surrounded by panicked, fleeing courtesans and patrons but he paid them no mind. If any tried to stop him they were left twitching and bleeding out on the floor before they even got close.

The guards around Domora were a bit harder, but still didn’t stand a chance. This wasn’t Kiol the Soldier, _this_ was Kiol the Assassin, at last with permission to be unrestrained. Through it all the madam sat on her low sofa, legs crossed, and watched her protection slaughtered. When Kiol turned to her, sword dripping with blood, she smiled.

“All this because I propositioned your boyfriend?” she asked.

The menace in Kiol’s steps actually made the woman pause. “You should know better,” he said, “than to make such comments to me right now.” She raised her palms in surrender but even something about that seemed cocky. “Tell me where the women are.”

“If you wanted a woman there were about six dozen you scared off.”

“You know what I’m asking.” She raised her eyebrows at him. He gave her three seconds—an extremely generous amount—before lifting his sword tip to her neck. “Tell me.”

“Ruadhan won’t let you kill me,” she said calmly. “He’ll want to question me first.”

“Not kill,” Kiol said. “But he said nothing of maiming.” He was about to cut off a finger with a flick of his sword but instead he stepped to the side and flung a throwing knife behind him. The dart aimed for his neck embedded into a sofa cushion and his knife embedded into the wall.

He turned around slowly, eyes prodding into every corner of the room. It was dim in here but that meant nothing to Kiol. There was no one hiding in the shadows, no secret openings in the walls. Where the hell did the dart come from?

Even though the trajectory meant it couldn’t possibly be from outside the room, he stepped into the hall anyway. The house was empty save the trail of corpses he’d left in the corridor. He returned to the madam’s side. “Some of you rebels _do_ have skill.”

“Oh, yes.” Domora smiled again. “We have plenty. Plenty of numbers, too. You can take me away, you could kill me, kill as many rebels as you can find, but there will always be more.”

So many rebels—and cultists—festering right under their noses. The Society had become so complacent in its incumbency, so confident in its power, that they didn’t think it possible. They crushed the small groups that were too amateur to keep things secret and believed it was enough. But someone like Domora—secrets were her profession, her life.

Kiol remembered Nirin’s observation and started to sign instead of talk. “Couldn’t find another five to replace the ones who refused? I don’t think we need to worry about your numbers.” She had originally wanted twenty-one impostors for seven fake patrols, but had to make-do with sixteen. If their numbers truly were that great, finding an extra five men, or at least an extra two, to threaten into compliance shouldn’t have been difficult.

Domora shrugged with her eyebrows and a tilt of her head. “Think what you want.”

“Why didn’t your threats work on those five?” That was what Kiol couldn’t figure out. Someone like Domora who already knew people’s vulnerabilities or could easily find out, who led the rebels and was trusted by them, surely she knew who or what to threaten to make the men obey.

She understood what he was thinking. “Oh, they did care for those women. They just cared about themselves more. Surely that’s something you of all people can understand, Killer.”

Kiol crouched down and stared her in the eyes. Killer. A name other soldiers mocked him with. Most of them were killers too, but not in the same way, and not to the same extent. They thought he didn’t know, because Kiol and killer looked so similar when spoken and Kiol never reacted either way. But Domora emphasized it clearly, wanted him to see her say it.

“I understand,” he said slowly. “Far better than you know and not for the reasons you think.” It was a cruel choice to ask of anyone: yourself or your loved one. Even the men who had chosen their loved ones, many of them had likely done so only to uphold an obligation of honor, so they wouldn’t feel the shame and burden that came with selfishness. But in their hearts, they wanted to choose themselves and their own lives. That was what it was to be human. Kiol did not look down on them for it.

Of course, the men who had chosen themselves had died anyway. But that was because of their own stupidity and greed, and Kiol _did_ look down on them for that.

“Who would you choose?” Domora asked. “Yourself… or Nirin?”

Kiol’s eyes widened—barely, but the woman noticed and gave a wicked smile. He didn’t have time to question how she knew his name. He threw his weight to the side and stood in one smooth movement. The dart landed just above the madam’s shoulder in the back of the sofa. It was close that time. She was baiting him, distracting him.

His gaze trailed around the room without stopping as he spoke. “I may be a killer, but you are a monster.” What she did to those women—her own followers. No wonder Nirin had been so disconcerted by her. Kiol wouldn’t want a glimpse into such a soul.

He stayed mostly facing the side wall where the darts had come from before. It didn’t matter. The air shifted with deadly aura and Kiol stepped out of the way as he turned around. The dart stuck into the wall. Nobody behind him. Nothing. Even the madam was lounging on the couch without looking at him, as though resting after a nice dinner.

He returned to her front. “Tell me where the rebel women are.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said pleasantly, then nodded behind Kiol’s shoulder. “Ruadhan.”

Kiol turned to see Ruadhan walk calmly into the room, adjusting his collar. “Domora,” he returned the greeting with a dip of his chin.

“Be careful,” Kiol warned. “There are darts coming from nowhere.”

Ruadhan’s eyes hadn’t left the madam. “Mirror sigils, Domora?” He took a knife from his belt and lifted her by the arm. She came willingly and let Ruadhan cut her hand. Dipping two fingers into her blood, he scribbled out a rune on the wall, more complicated than any Kiol had ever seen. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he stepped into the wall. Kiol watched, fascinated, confused, as he disappeared. The madam looked down at her hand with a curled lip and wiped her bloody palm across the sigil, smearing it into oblivion. Kiol stepped forward and grabbed her, but not in time. He hauled her back and began tying her up. He didn’t know where Ruadhan had gone or what destroying that rune would do.

But only a minute later Ruadhan stepped back into the room from the same spot, a splatter of blood across his chest, the kind that came from slitting a throat. That was why Kiol preferred to stab instead of slice—less messy.

“Let’s go,” Ruadhan said to Kiol and started out. Kiol took one last look at the wall then pulled Domora out after.

She didn’t struggle at all and walked through the streets with her head held high. People saw the Temple General’s and Kiol’s uniform and scattered to the sides of the road, out of their way.

They brought Domora to the prison room in Ruadhan’s quarters. It had no cell, only chains for one person and a pit for a fire. When he had chained her up Kiol said, “I will search for the rebel families. I believe they’re in the east side.”

Ruadhan waved his agreement and dismissal and Kiol left him to get what information he could from Domora. He likely didn’t care about the families at this point; he wanted to know what soldiers were working with the rebels.

Kiol ransacked the east district, demanding of everyone he saw what they knew. Most, terrified, claimed to know nothing and Kiol couldn’t determine if any were lying. Nirin’s help would have been great but Kiol refused to bring Nirin into this now, not when it had come to this point.

He couldn’t keep blindly knocking down doors but just as that occurred to him, he had another thought. He made his way to the money-lender, hoping he was still there. He was. Kiol killed all eight of his guards and dragged the man out from where he cowered under his desk.

“Where are the captive women?” he asked. The man didn’t even struggle, held up to his toes by the back of his tunic.

“I-I-I don’t kn-know—”

Kiol rested the tip of his dagger on the man’s eye. He squeezed both shut and screamed, “Below the bathhouse! On Line Street! Oh God, don’t!” He continued screaming until Kiol snapped his neck and dropped his lifeless body to the floor in disgust. He didn’t deserve such a quick and painless death but Kiol didn’t have time. He found Line Street only after more aggressive questions to panicked pedestrians and from there finding the bathhouse was easy.

Another impressively large building whose three floors were actually connected, and steam occasionally billowed from the top. Paper lanterns were hung off all the eaves but in the daylight there was nothing impressive about their red faces, numerous though they were. Kiol hadn’t been to a bathhouse in a long time, and never to this one. He vaguely recalled bathhouses had furnaces in the cellars, a place only for workers so the entrance to it would be somewhere out of the way and inconspicuous.

He watched the people entering and leaving until two men in coarse black garments carrying buckets of water went inside. Kiol slipped in after and kept his eye on them. The center corridor split the building into gendered halves, and those were split into changing rooms, wash rooms, hot baths, cold baths, and the steam room. Nobody paid the workers any mind, but they did Kiol. Kiol could try to be as low-profile as he wanted and it wouldn’t work. Certainly not in his uniform. People scurried out of his way in a panic when they saw him, even as he walked leisurely and didn’t look at any of them. When the men noticed he was following them they kept glancing over their shoulders and picking up speed but Kiol kept pace and eventually they led him to the cellar entrance. They practically sprinted down the stairs.

Once in the underbelly, though, the staff barely spared him a glance before returning to their work. If any of them paused for more than a few seconds it would stop the entire process and things would quickly go downhill from there. Given that he wasn’t attacking anyone, and they’d lose their livelihoods if they were the reason for the entire bathhouse to grind to a halt, they’d rather take the slim chance that he was there for them. It was mostly men—lugging coal or water, fanning flames with a giant bellows, drawing water up or down from floors. A few women, also dressed in black, were among them and none looked out of place. They dutifully went about their own work; washing linens, grinding herbs, crawling between and under furnaces to clean or fix them.

He tried to talk to a few staff and ask if they’d had any new female workers or had seen anything unusual, but even the ones who bothered to react to him simply shook their heads. Had Idretis really dared to give him false information? Perhaps he had known he would die either way. Kiol wandered twice around the cellar, which was a fairly large space since it took up the entire same area as the building. For anyone else they could continue to be unsure, but Kiol knew after that that the women weren’t there and there was no secret passageway hidden somewhere.

He stopped on his way back to the stairs and slowly looked around. Was it possible? He’d seen it with his own eyes but still, somehow, he couldn’t believe…

He crouched down and pulled out his dagger. At that the staff around him quickly left, but they hadn’t been doing anything vital. He rolled up his sleeve, cut his arm, swiped his fingers in the blood, and began redrawing the sigil he’d seen Ruadhan draw. He wasn’t good for much, but at the very least his eye was of a god and his memorization skills were almost good enough to also be considered inhuman. When the sigil was finished he wiped his dagger and put it back in his vest, then pressed his hand tentatively to the dirt. As though slipping through a frigid mist, it passed right into the ground. Not thinking about what might happen if he’d drawn the sigil even the slightest bit wrong, nor if he was just transporting himself to another place entirely, he dove the rest of his body through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating this, I literally just keep forgetting that AO3 exists. I will try to add a chapter a day now, all 35 chapters of book one are complete and I'm working on the backlog for book 2. If you'd like to read ahead, I have a website: https://www.remnantswebserial.com/
> 
> But comments, kudos, etc., on AO3 are VERY appreciated!! Thank you everyone for reading, I hope you enjoy~~


	20. Chapter Nineteen

For an instant he was suspended in frigid, airless space, but before he could even comprehend where or what it was, he fell.

He managed to twist himself to land on the back of his shoulder and not his head. He crashed down onto a table, which collapsed and dropped him onto solid ground. He didn't have time to be disoriented, looking up and immediately on guard. But instead of the two women he was expecting there were two families. Grandparents, women, men, and children, thirteen in total, the lot of them clutching each other and backing away.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’m here to… save you.” He looked around. The room was cozy, stuffed with cushions and blankets, its wooden walls lit with lanterns. There were some children’s toys in one corner, games and cards, even some food. It did not look like a prison, and certainly not like a cavern beneath the earth.

He glanced back at the group. They were whispering to each other. “—a soldier.” “Where there’s one there’ll be more.” “—can overpower him now, let’s do it quickly.”

Kiol stood up and brushed wood splinters and dirt off his clothes. “You can’t beat me,” he warned them. “And no more are coming.” They saw his onyx gem and went quiet, pressing even closer to each other and shooing their kids behind their skirts. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said slowly. “I want to help you.”

“Save us? From what?” a man demanded.

Kiol hesitated. “Domora,” he replied. The adults glanced at each other. They weren’t speaking but their meaning was clear in their eyes—_we have to get out, away from this man_. He held up his hands but the motion made them clutch each other again. He sighed. “I won’t imprison you. Domora was going to kill you. Still might. You have to get out.”

“You’re the one who has to get out,” a woman said, stepping closer. She shook off a young man’s attempt to stop her. “You think we’re dense enough to believe such lies?”

This was already more than Kiol had bargained for. He really did just want to leave. But there was no door here. In a show of good will, he sat on the ground. “The Temple General will want you imprisoned but I—” He grit his teeth. “I’m a rebel too,” he said. Well, it was true enough now, wasn’t it? “I want to help you. Is one of you Lerina?” They all froze at that. Kiol continued. “Your husband sent me.”

A woman who’d been quietly consoling a crying girl stared at Kiol, almost breaking into tears herself. Lerina, Kiol supposed. The fiery woman spoke again.

“Meaning you captured him and tortured our location out of him!”

Well, that wasn’t entirely a lie. Kiol shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve tried really hard to find this place…” Harder than he tried to do most things because he really did want to help these idiots. Why was everything always so difficult? “Why are you here anyway?”

“Why are we here?” the woman hissed. “To stay safe from the likes of you!”

“Is that what Domora told you?” Kiol asked. The woman scowled and crossed her arms. “Were there more families here before?” Another exchange of glances. Kiol understood. Domora told them they had been found out as rebels or some such, and brought them here to keep them “safe.” When those men refused to obey her she took some of them away on the pretense of finding a more permanent location for them to hide. Likely did the same for the families of the soldiers Ruadhan had killed. Hopefully she actually took those families somewhere safe.

Kiol pressed a finger between his eyebrows. “How did Domora get in and out of here?” he asked. They stared stubbornly at him. “I’ll go,” he told them. “You don’t have to follow.” Lerina pointed a shaky hand to one of the walls. A man beside her slapped it down and she hugged both to her stomach. “Thank you,” Kiol said, and rolled to his feet. The cut on his arm had dried over so he cut again and began writing the sigil. Halfway through, a body emerged from the wall beside him.

Kiol stepped back and to the side as a man in guard uniform came through. Another was following. When the first noticed Kiol he tried to push him into the wall but Kiol was faster, ducking out of the man’s reach and behind him to slam him into the wall instead. He grabbed the other who had just come through and, using his shoulder as leverage, tossed them over and slammed them onto the ground. Even more were coming through. Kiol hurried back, ready to fight. The families, on the other hand, fled towards the guards.

“No! Don’t go with them!” Kiol was ignored. Six guards in total came through, five of which attacked him. The first guard had recovered and was herding the family out through the same wall. Kiol killed the five guards with ease, but it still took up precious seconds. By the time he had the last one down, the people were gone and the guard was stepping through the wall. Kiol sprinted after, running headlong into the guard and toppling them both to the ground on the other side.

They were in a tunnel of dirt. Kiol stabbed the guard through the neck and jumped to his feet. There were two dozen guards staring at him and another ten grabbing the families. Somehow they must have realized something was wrong, because they were struggling against the guards. All at once the two dozen rushed forward. Kiol drew his sword and had his attention entirely taken up with dodging, blocking, and killing. When a hill of bodies lay around him, the rest were gone.

Kiol ran down the tunnel, swearing under his breath. The tunnel was long and twisting and dark. Twenty-three people gave off significant smell and disturbed even the packed dirt enough that when he hit a fork he never needed to pause. Kiol had no idea if he was still under the city—he couldn’t believe such a tunnel system would be under them all and Ruadhan hadn’t known.

Kiol stopped short and stared. The tunnel he had gone down ended at a dirt wall. He pressed against it, inspected all around, but there was nothing. He returned to the last fork but everything indicated the group had gone that way. Using his blood yet again, he made another sigil on the wall. But this time when he pressed his hand to it, nothing happened, he was just touching dirt. He paced around, then tried the same on the ground, and the other walls of the tunnel, but nothing. And he really couldn’t continue bleeding himself.

He went back to the room. The wall outside it had its own sigil, different from the one Ruadhan had drawn. Kiol studied it for a long while before he tested his hand against it and as he expected, it went right through. He slipped back into the room. It was a mess from his fighting, the five cadavers still bleeding out over the floor and bedding. Kiol stared at the wall, then stuck his hand again where the sigil was on the other side. It passed through. A two-way portal.

He stacked up the table he hadn’t broken and the bedding to reach the ceiling he’d fallen through, but unlike the wall it didn’t give way. Ruadhan’s sigil was either one-sided or one-time use. He couldn’t use the blood from the guards without climbing up and down a bunch of times. With a sigh, he cut his arm yet again and painted Ruadhan’s sigil. Then he climbed back through.

He scared some bathhouse workers as he popped up from the ground. They had been standing around inspecting the first sigil he’d drawn but they fled when a man dragged his body from solid earth.

When he crawled out he tested the first sigil again. It didn’t work. One time use. Kiol wasn’t sure if his dizziness was from blood loss or the new impossible reality he’d literally fallen into. He staggered to his feet and left, but once on the street he didn’t know where to go or what to do. Thirteen people. He had let thirteen people be taken to their deaths. But how could someone like him have saved them in the first place?

He found himself outside the inn without realizing he had walked there. Holding himself up with a palm against the wall, he knocked on Nirin’s door. When nothing happened for a few seconds he slid the door open to an empty room.

“Nirin,” he said, as though that would magically make the boy appear. Had he already left to help the cult? Kiol walked into the room, intent on finding some clue of where Nirin had gone. He only managed a few steps before the world spun around him and he felt his knees connect with floor. He reached for his water flask but his senses were scattered and he couldn’t orient where his body was in relation to everything else.

He opened his eyes. He was staring at a ceiling. Which meant he was lying down? He didn’t remember lying down or closing his eyes. He jerked upright and looked at Nirin sitting composed and proper at the table, drinking a cup of tea. A paper lantern lit the room in a dim, steady glow but with only the side of a building to see outside, it was impossible to tell the time.

He looked down at his bandaged arm, then twisted onto his knees and leaned against the table. Nirin had poured another cup and placed it before him. “Sorry,” the boy signed. “I had to leave you there. You were too heavy to move.”

“Did you really go help that cultist?” Kiol signed. Nirin nodded. Kiol grit his teeth and slammed his palm onto the table, shaking the tea cups. Tea spilled over the top of Nirin’s but Kiol’s was jostled off the edge and shattered on the ground. “Don’t leave without me next time! I don’t care if you trust them, no matter what I have to protect you!” Nirin looked at him and the rest of Kiol’s anger caught in his chest, thrumming painfully. Nirin watched him with too much compassion, too much understanding. He knew too much. Kiol looked away. “I couldn’t save them,” he whispered. “I really tried.”

Nirin stood and went to the linen closet, bringing back a cloth to mop up the mess. Kiol grabbed his arm to stop him and took the cloth to clean it up himself. He picked up the porcelain shards carefully and lay them on the table. “Promise me,” he said after a long minute. “Let me stay by your side.”

He looked up when he saw no movement. Nirin was still crouched in the same spot, immobile. Only after another few seconds he signed, “Okay. But you must promise to protect yourself, too. I can’t always do it.”

Kiol couldn’t help his half-smile. He was going to say that his protection didn’t matter until that last sentence dissolved his stubbornness. “Sure, kid,” he said. “I promise.” Nirin looked at him solemnly, not matching his smile at all. Of course, he knew Kiol’s true feelings on the matter. But he didn’t argue. He turned back to the table and pushed his own cup towards Kiol.

“Drink. You lost too much blood.”

Funny, how things had come back to this, only it was Kiol on the other side now. He obediently drank up the tea and even held it out for Nirin to pour him some more. They got another cup and more tea and chatted through the night. Nirin wouldn’t tell Kiol what he’d done for Emalen, but Kiol filled Nirin in on the rest of his day and their conversation turned to nothing and everything. Since they had time now, and Kiol remembered, eventually he asked what he’d been thinking for a long time that had been pushed to the back of his mind by everything else.

“That grandma said a blind man told her to write that note… decades ago.” Nirin nodded without the least hint of surprise. “How is that possible? Did you… do you know him?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say you trusted him?”

“Because I do.” Nirin met Kiol’s flat expression with his smile-not-smile. “You gifted your hearing. I gifted my voice. But do you know what is gifted between those?”

Kiol actually had to think about it. He’d never paid attention to all that nonsense. “...Sight,” he finally remembered. Nirin nodded. “Are you saying… the person who gave a sacrifice before you is leaving notes for me?” Out of everything that had happened this past week it honestly wasn’t the most implausible, but it did sound nonsensical.

“They’ve left notes for me too,” Nirin signed. Kiol wanted to hear more about that but Nirin continued. “I think they were gifted premonition. Like Creator’s.”

Kiol scoffed. “If they can see the future, why not just tell us? Why leave such cryptic messages?”

“Remember what Creator said?” Nirin signed patiently. “It’s not exactly seeing the future because there is no set future. Just possibilities. He’s trying to steer us towards the better possibilities.”

“Or the worse,” Kiol pointed out. “How do you know you can trust him? I wouldn’t.”

“If Creator accepted a sacrifice from him, I trust her judgment.”

“Oh.” Kiol hadn’t thought about it, but Creator must have remembered all the people she was given sacrifices from. “Did you ask her?” Nirin stared down at the table and said nothing. Kiol didn’t know what to make of that reaction but he got the feeling Nirin was uncomfortable. He clumsily changed the topic. “How long have you played the flute?” ….

The lantern had extinguished itself and pale light leaked, barely, from the window. Kiol was used to ignoring exhaustion but Nirin could no longer hide how heavy his eyes were. Just as Kiol was about to suggest he leave so the boy could sleep, Nirin stood. “Let’s go,” he signed.

Kiol blinked up at him. “Go where?”

“I have to report to Creator.”

Kiol’s expression darkened. “You can’t. Ruadhan will know if we leave the city.”

“So?”

“So? Then he’ll want to know where we went.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“He’ll ask. I can’t lie to him.” Nirin looked down at him and said nothing. Kiol sighed. “Isn’t there a magic rune for this? Moving long distances in an instant?”

“There are sigils for many things,” Nirin signed. “But that one is… difficult. And I am better at rune seals.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Nirin shook his head. Kiol sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. “You need to sleep, anyway. Let’s go tonight, we might be able to sneak out.”

Nirin’s expression flitted between conflicted and pensive. Finally he signed, “Alright.” Kiol nodded and stood but hadn’t made it to the door before he paused. He turned back around slowly.

“Actually, I’ll stay here,” he signed.

Nirin tilted his head. “You don’t trust me.”

Kiol had known Nirin would be able to tell, so he didn’t know why shame burned his collar. “You might do something rash,” he signed. It wasn’t exactly a yes or no answer, but Nirin knew already anyway. Before he could move, Nirin went over to the string on the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting more bedding for you,” Nirin signed.

“No!” Kiol said before he could pull it. Nirin looked at him blankly. “I don’t need anything,” he signed, annoyed. “Don’t tell anyone I’m staying here.” Especially don’t clue them in that he’d stayed the whole night. Plus, Kiol had spent nights sleeping outside the inn on the ground; sleeping on a straw mat inside a warm room was already an improvement.

“If we’re being watched won’t someone already know?”

“Well they won’t spread rumors!”

Nirin smiled. “Why do you care about rumors?”

Kiol grit his teeth. “Just… you… just come back here. I don’t need bedding.” He could breathe easy only when Nirin did as he ordered.

“Then you take the bed and I’ll sleep on the mat,” Nirin signed.

“No,” Kiol said, exasperated, bringing another smile to Nirin’s face. He switched to sign-speak. “Didn’t I just sleep on the floor? I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t have a choice then,” Nirin replied. “But if you stay now you will have a bed.” Kiol stared him down but his intensity was no match for Nirin’s gentle patience. Kiol knew he wouldn’t win such a battle.

“You can’t sleep on the floor either,” he muttered. Nirin nodded. Heaving a sigh, Kiol pulled off his boots and threw off his vest, then dumped himself down on top of the covers with his back facing Nirin. After some time he felt the slight pressure of Nirin slipping under the blankets beside him. It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he asked to stay by his side. Usually Kiol could fall asleep in an instant but for some reason he couldn’t, even with his exhaustion holding his eyelids down. All he could do was focus on the warmth and weight of that person behind him until he fell into a restless slumber.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Someone was beside him. Kiol sat up, looking down at the soft presence. Only when he saw the slender face did he remember who it was and where they were. Nirin lay on his side facing Kiol, hands curled by his cheek and hair loosely spread across the sheets. He stirred at Kiol’s motion but didn’t wake. Kiol held his breath, watching those delicate eyebrows scrunch together and the soft pink lips turn down. He’d never seen Nirin look so pained, not even when he was seriously injured, not even when he’d been crying in the morgue. There was a despair on his face that choked Kiol’s insides. Someone as precious as Nirin should not have to experience an emotion like that. Kiol wanted to rip that misery straight from Nirin and never let it return, but what could he do?

He got up, careful not to disturb the boy. Last night it seemed he had folded Kiol’s vest that he'd thrown down and put it and his boots neatly to the side wall. Kiol redressed and left the inn as discreetly as he could. It was getting to noon and the streets were as busy as they’d get. He bought rice porridge with vegetables and extremely fine, extremely expensive, tea leaves.

Nirin was still asleep when Kiol returned. He set down the gourd of porridge and the boiled water and bowls he’d requested from the front desk, then watched the back of Nirin’s hair. After a moment he moved closer and settled down beside the bed. The boy turned and Kiol froze, thinking he’d woken him, but his eyes remained closed. He had seemed to turned automatically to the warmth behind him. And his expression had cleared, which lightened Kiol’s chest with relief.

He remembered one of their many conversations last night, which at the time he hadn’t thought much of.

_“Why do people want to waken Envier anyway? Do they want to die?”_

_Nirin shook his head and turned his teacup in his hands. “There are many reasons. Many different people are cultists so naturally they all have different reasons.”_

_“Then what’s the most common one?”_

_Nirin turned his face from Kiol, staring hard at the opposite edge of the table as he signed. “Envier represents scorned loyalty and revenge against injustice. Cultists usually feel disregarded by others in their life.” The sharp twinge in Kiol’s head made his confusion about Nirin’s behavior push to the back of his mind._

_“That’s no reason to kill themselves and everyone else,” he said._

_“What most feel disregarded by is the Society. They don’t believe Envier will kill everyone but will take their side and destroy the ones who scorned them like Creator scorned him. That he will kill the Society and Creator and they can start anew with Envier as the One True God.”_

_“Stupid,” Kiol muttered. So cultists were throwing a temper tantrum because they didn’t make it as far in the Society as they wanted? Because they were being ignored? Who fucking cared about such shit? Kiol dealt with it without a desire to destroy the world. Well… not to that _extent_, at least._

_“It’s not stupid,” Nirin signed. He was still faced away. Kiol wondered if he knew others’ emotions even when he wasn't looking at them. “Humans need a reason to live; if they’re struggling to continue on, they need to know what they’re struggling for. When they’ve spent their whole life striving for a goal only to realize late in life that they’ll never achieve it… they need a new beacon. Envier offers that beacon: a new goal and a hope that they can make the world a different place from the one that spat them out so harshly.”_

_“A different place,” Kiol scoffed. “For themselves, maybe. And everyone else gets to die. How selfish.”_

_“Everyone is selfish.”_

_“You’re not.”_

Nirin looked at him then, not replying. Kiol hadn’t known what emotion was on his face at the time. But now, thinking back, it had been a shadow of the expression Kiol saw that morning. So it was Kiol’s fault Nirin was feeling such things in his dreams. Of course. He should have known as much.

He returned to the table and rested his head in his hand, staring at the wall. He had perhaps gotten everything too early. The porridge and teapot was cold when Nirin finally sat up. He rubbed his eye with a fist, making his sleeve fall to his elbow and expose scars. There really were so many. Not just on one side, either. It was the same as his legs where the back and front and sides had seemed to be cut indiscriminately. Nirin dropped his hand in his lap and his arm was covered again and Kiol acted as though he hadn’t noticed a thing.

“S’cold now,” Kiol said when Nirin looked over at the table. “Sorry.” Nirin nodded and with heavy motions got out of bed. It was obvious the boy didn’t deal with fatigue well. But he styled his hair as Kiol got some staff to reheat everything, and by the time they had food and tea in their bellies Nirin was back to his elegant self.

They still had half a day ahead of them. When Nirin asked what Kiol wanted to do, he gave a long, angry sigh before signing, “Worship.”

“It already started,” Nirin signed. Kiol nodded. They went anyway. The Archbishop wouldn’t leave Kiol alone until he did, and despite the man saying it wasn’t good enough, Kiol hoped it would be.

The Society temple grounds was more northern than the martial temple, and huge. The main temple wasn’t one building but eight interconnected, and there were another scattered twenty around. Its grounds held fifteen different gardens, three manicured ponds that could have been called lakes, and plenty of open space and gazebos on top of that. The only official way to get onto the grounds was over a long stone bridge across one of the ponds, which led straight to the temple’s enormous front doors. As one walked across the bridge the building rose up, towering above them with its dark gray eaves and vibrant red pillars and pristine white paper lanterns.

Any civilians who wanted to join the main temple for worship was welcomed, though home worship was perfectly acceptable as well. But this was the one day a week soldiers were required to go to the Society temple for their worship. For everyone but disciples, worship was once a day for half an hour. Disciples worshipped three times a day, and in the afternoon it was for ninety minutes. Which meant on this day, soldiers were also stuck here for an hour and a half.

The bell for afternoon worship had already been rung and everyone was where they would be. Save the two lonesome figures walking across the bridge. The closer they got, the more reluctant Kiol became, until he was practically dragging his feet. Nirin patted his arm comfortingly and took the initiative to go inside first.

The front hall was a sea of kneeling bodies. At the other end, so far away it actually looked small, was the statue of Creator. She stood over the room, arms outstretched and eyes gazing down at them with compassion made of cold stone. With long straight hair and a lithe body, she looked nothing like Serul. Standing before her was a priest, an advanced disciple, who was giving a sermon instead of leading everyone in the usual prayer chants they had the rest of the week.

Beneath them all, unknown to everyone but Kiol, was a gaping cavern that held the anguished remnant of Envier.

He brushed past Nirin to lead him silently around the outer edge, past the sea of bowed bodies, down a long colonnade only separated from the outside with columns and a short but beautifully carved railing.

Normally, in their daily prayers, the neophyte soldiers and acolyte disciples were separated from the rest, as they had to chant out loud while the rest did so mentally. But on this day all soldiers and disciples were crowded into the second largest hall to listen to the Archbishop’s sermon.

He stood at an alter in front of another statue of Creator. This one stood with chin held high and one hand in a fist by her side, the other lifted gently and outstretched as though reaching for a flower. Despite the other statue being the largest and showing a kind, loving Creator, this was the statue coveted by everyone, the one most often recreated in smaller forms for households and pockets and charm decorations. A Creator that was confident, but humble; fierce, but soft; wise, but graceful. The ideal for everyone to strive towards.

The Archbishop noticed them come in and his lips tilted up in a smile, though his sermon didn’t pause. Kiol leaned against the back wall and crossed his arms, face set in bored disinterest.

There were no more sitting cushions. Nirin didn’t seem to care. He knelt on the hard stone in front of Kiol and watched the Archbishop with unwavering attention.

Kiol watched obediently for a while, but even if he bothered to read the Archbishop’s lips everything he said was boring and things Kiol had heard hundreds of times before. His gaze drifted around the room. The disciples all sat on the left and the soldiers on the right. The two couldn’t have been more distinct from each other with the bold soldier uniforms of black, gold, and red contrasted by the flowing white, cream, and gold of the disciples. While both sat straight, the soldiers were rigid like boards while the disciples held themselves with a comfortable tranquility. Save for the children, who were the same no matter where or who they were. The younger acolytes and neophytes both shifted and let their eyes drift and their hands pick at their clothing.

Even though they arrived half an hour late, there was still an hour of worship. Kiol was bored out of his mind. He stared at the back of Nirin’s head. Two braids were pulled from the front and coiled around the bun at the back. A hairpin with a dangling charm was stuck through its middle. He sat as straight as the others but somehow his posture was even more poised and dignified than anyone else. The lines of his robes, draped across his slim shoulders and pooling to the ground, were soft and perfect. Amid the sea of black and red and gold, Nirin’s green robes were like a fresh seedling sprouting from ashes. Kiol had never had something nice to look at during worship before.

Nirin did not move the slightest bit for the entire hour, eyes trained forward. Worship ended but Kiol didn’t notice until Nirin stood and brushed off his robes. He grabbed the boy’s arm, ready to drag him out, but the door was already filled with the others leaving. An imposing presence came up behind them and Kiol turned to the Archbishop, yanking Nirin protectively against his torso.

“I’m so glad you joined us today, Kiol,” Hida signed. He peered down at Nirin with a forced smile. “And who is this?”

_You know who it is_, Kiol thought bitterly. But he signed around Nirin’s shoulders, “A friend.”

Hida asked, his smile unbroken, “Did you enjoy my sermon, young man?” Nirin nodded. Hida’s smile actually turned a bit genuine. “You have the focus of a disciple. Perhaps you could consider becoming one. Creator welcomes all and approves of any who cultivate to improve their souls.” Hida thought with enough guidance and time, he could turn even the staunchest insurgent into a loyal follower of Creator. Kiol couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. If only Hida knew that Nirin already fulfilled that role—better than the Archbishop himself.

“Why don’t you two walk with me?” Hida gestured to the side hall that led to a garden. He didn’t seem to have ill intentions but Kiol’s instincts were blaring.

“No thanks,” Kiol said flatly and herded Nirin along. The disciples and soldiers walked amicably together. After all, despite their stark differences they were cut of the same cloth, both agents of the Society. But two stood out from the rest, literally, as the others went out of their way to avoid them. Even the disciples, supposed to be loving and accepting of everyone, cast them dirty glances as they passed. The two were, of course, the twins. Corva put herself between Caelin and the rest, head high and unperturbed, but Caelin stared at the railing with hunched shoulders.

Nirin glanced up at him. “Let’s go over,” he signed. Kiol shook his head. Even though Corva wouldn’t do anything here, not even raise her voice, he was sure she was still mad at him. And like he’d told Caelin, they weren’t friends, so he had no reason to walk alongside them. “Do you think that mission is the one you needed Caelin’s help for?” Nirin asked.

Kiol had forgotten about that, actually—why he’d dragged Caelin along in the first place. Maybe if he’d taken her when he went to find the families, they could have saved them… He grit his teeth and shoved the thought from his mind. “Whatever,” he muttered. It was too late now anyway. And he didn’t have to believe what some blind man half a century ago had said.

“Is there something on my back?” Nirin signed. Kiol glanced down at him, confused, and checked his back.

“No?”

Nirin smiled up at him. “You were staring at it for so long earlier I wasn’t sure.”

Kiol halted mid-step and Nirin stopped with him. Some people behind skirted around them, annoyed.

“So you can tell even if you aren’t looking,” Kiol signed accusingly.

“I have to be looking if they’re far away. But I can feel anyone if they’re close enough to me.” Nirin’s sweet smile didn’t fade. “Even if I’m looking, though, it does get harder the farther they are.”

Kiol glanced around then signed, “The Archbishop?”

“He’s strange,” Nirin signed, uncertain. “I would be wary of him.”

“Already am,” Kiol muttered, then switched to sign-speak, “Never liked him.”

“He likes you.”

Kiol blinked. “He does?”

Nirin nodded. “But he… he’s planning something. And he’s conflicted and worried.”

“Does he know the remnant is…?”

“I’m not sure.” Nirin started walking again and Kiol followed. It was probably a good idea, the crowd had dispersed and they were standing alone and conspicuously in the corridor. “His devotion to Creator is real. Or at least… his idea of her, and what she stands for in his mind.”

Kiol understood, somehow. Nirin meant that Hida wouldn’t be a good recruit for Creator, despite being her embodied representation to the world. A shame, really, because with his status and influence he could single-handedly bring Creator back. He was the head of the Society of the One True God, on a level above everyone else, even Ruadhan. No matter what Ruadhan said, if Hida said something different that was what would be spread as the truth.

With plenty of time left, Kiol trailed Nirin in the market as he flitted from booth to booth. He seemed greatly attracted to colorful fine fabrics or shiny hair accessories. He never showed any intention of actually purchasing the things, satisfied with admiring them. But Kiol had started to carry around a lot more money and he ignored Nirin’s protests as he bought whatever the boy showed interest in, until he ran out of the funds in his pocket.

He looked into his empty pouch then met Nirin’s triumphant smile. “I’ll go get more,” he said and turned, but Nirin latched onto his arm and dug his heels into the ground, as though he had any capability of actually stopping him. Kiol put up a show of struggling against the restraint, then dropped the subject with a sigh. “Fine, I won’t.” He tilted his head so that his hair covered his half-smile.

“It’s getting dark anyway,” Nirin signed. They returned to the inn and Kiol set down the pile of satchels he’d bought. They went over their plan one last time, then Kiol went to the martial temple. He ate dinner and waited in his room. An hour after the last bell rang out over the temple grounds, Kiol slipped into the hall.

He knew the guards’ rotations and schedules, and unlike during the day, dressed in all black at night and in the shadows of buildings, he could be near invisible. But it was hugely annoying to sneak past the eighty guards set for the grounds, and then the three hundred that patrolled the streets and manned the city walls. It wasn’t until three hours later that Kiol arrived in the forest. It was so late at night at that point that it was almost early morning. He stalked along the path, heart pounding harder than it had while he was sneaking over the city wall. It had taken him longer than he wanted. If anything had happened to Nirin…

Right where they’d agreed to meet, Nirin knelt below the fiery red maple tree with his back to the path and head lowered. It took Kiol a second for his eyes and nose to coordinate and when they did he realized the red that covered the ground weren’t fallen leaves, but a pool of blood.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Kiol’s heart dropped to his feet and he stumbled forward. “N-Nirin!”

Nirin's head lifted and glanced over his shoulder. Kiol’s relief made him almost dizzier than his horror. He grabbed the boy and pulled him up, away from the blood. “What the hell is this? What is this? Are you hurt?” He realized he was frantically touching Nirin’s torso and pulled his hands away.

“I’m not hurt,” Nirin reassured him, perfectly calm. “Please stop panicking.”

“I’m not panicking!” Kiol straightened and stubbornly forced his head to cool. He was a soldier, he didn’t panic at the sight of some blood. Well, more than some. Kiol stared down at the mess, its stench so strong that it was like he was swallowing it. “Whoever donated this to the ground is dead now,” he signed.

“It was a sigil.” Nirin walked the perimeter of the puddle.

“A sigil? For what?”

“I don’t know. But there are only a few that require so much blood.” Kiol waited as Nirin came back to his side. “Transferring a soul to another body—”

“Sorry, what?”

“—forging a supernatural weapon, or instant transportation.”

“What was that first one again?”

“Transferring a soul to another body.” He signed it too casually, Kiol almost felt that it really wasn’t strange at all. Nirin crouched again and Kiol looked askance at the blood. It did seem to have a form, like it was once strategically placed lines but had seeped together.

“Those uses really don’t seem equal,” Kiol said flatly.

Nirin tilted his head. “Maybe not to our mortal understanding. They are all things that require great amounts of energy; not even the gods could do them without a sigil.”

“How do you know any of this?”

“Creator.”

“Okay, but then how does anyone else know of these things?”

“It’s ancient knowledge, so it wouldn’t be strange for it to have spread around over centuries.”

Kiol crossed his arms and stared harder, but he didn’t know why. Even if he could make out the distinct form of a sigil, he wouldn’t know which it was. And all he could smell was blood, there was no use in trying to identify other scents that could determine who had done this. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

Nirin let himself into the front door of the cottage and held it for Kiol. It hadn’t even been locked. The front room was dark and empty, the fire only pulsing embers in the hearth. In the kitchen Creator sat on the floor surrounded by dozens of soft pink petals. It would have been picturesque if she wasn’t in the dark and looked almost crazed, muttering as she cupped something in her hands. As Kiol and Nirin walked in she opened her palms and another petal drifted to her lap. She lifted it, examining it closely, then sighed and tossed it. It fluttered to the ground with the others.

She looked up at them, then stood and brushed off her robes. Nirin was holding onto Kiol’s sleeve, which he thought was a warning until he realized the boy just couldn’t see anything.

“You came back,” Creator signed.

Kiol nodded. The woman moved over to the lantern on the table, lifting the paper covering and blowing softly onto the wick. A flame grew from it and burned brightly, illuminating the kitchen and casting shadows across the walls. Nirin walked over to the mess of petals, lifting one up.

“These look good,” he signed.

Creator turned around with a sigh, her face grim. “They’re _good_, they need to be perfect.” Kiol picked one up too. To him it just looked like a flower petal. Soft and powdery and frail.

He rested it on Nirin’s shoulder and the boy glanced at it, then left it there, signing again. “Why not just change what perfect means?” Creator’s eyes had drifted away but they snapped back to him at that, a strange expression on her face. They stared at each other. Creator opened her mouth, closed it, and looked away.

Even the One True God couldn’t withstand Nirin’s gaze. Kiol felt better about himself at that realization.

“That’s not in my power anymore,” Creator murmured. Then she brushed past them, carrying the paper lantern to the front room. Nirin bit his lower lip and gazed down at the petals. Before Kiol could do anything Nirin also turned around and followed Creator. She had started the fire and sat on the rug before it, once again looking calm and confident. Kiol sat beside Nirin, leaning his weight on his palm and watching the fire caress the bricks around it.

“When will you be at full strength again?” he asked, and let his gaze flick over to see her response.

“I don’t know,” Creator signed. “Not any time soon. Tell me, what has been happening in the capital?”

“Answer me this first,” Kiol said. “How do you know Ruadhan?”

Her calm shattered again, just like that. Her expression dropped, sad and pained and angry, and she looked away, teeth clenched. She was silent for a long, long time, but Kiol waited patiently. Nirin also said nothing and watched her, hands in his lap.

“Ru is…” She took a deep breath. “He was the catalyst of the Thousand Night Battle.” Kiol’s elbow buckled and he righted himself before he toppled into Nirin.

“What?”

“He was the one who whispered in Envier’s ear, incited his anger and jealousy and despair. The one who provoked him to violence.”

“Why?” Kiol asked, head blank and heart beating so hard in his chest he could almost hear it through his deafness. “Why? What could— how could he do that?”

Creator closed her eyes and shook her head. “I told you, Ruadhan is not someone to take lightly. Even as a mortal, he is a formidable match for me.”

“But he’s not,” Kiol said sharply. “He’s not mortal if he’s lived that long. How?”

Creator lowered her head. It was another few minutes before she continued. “He’s not immortal,” she signed. “He can die, just not of natural causes.”

“He can be killed,” Kiol verified. She nodded. “So kill him.” She blinked at him. He met her eyes defiantly, not caring if she, like Nirin, could feel the turmoil raging inside him.

“I cannot,” she said, and though Kiol couldn’t know, he thought she whispered it. “I create, I don’t destroy.”

Kiol opened his mouth, the ‘I’ll do it’ on his tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. Instead he asked, “So even death won’t touch him, then?”

The corner of Creator’s lips quirked up in a brief, wry smile. “That wouldn’t be a false statement.” She turned serious again. “I know you’ll ask, so I’ll tell you. Before the Thousand Night Battle, hundreds of years ago, Ruadhan was a priest. It wasn’t the Society of the One True God then, it was simply called the Order of Creator. There was no Archbishop or soldiers; it was only me, and my priests, and the layman followers. I wasn’t worshiped I was…” She sighed. “I was loved. Respected. My priests spread my word, the guidance I offered, and they came to me with the worries and tribulations of the masses so that I may help. But Ruadhan, he… he wanted more. He wanted to be on the same level as me—no, above me. He thought he could do better than I did. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, prayed to me every day. Of course I could not answer them all, and I depended on my priests to come to me with the most important burdens. Nobody ever prayed to Envier so when Ruadhan did, of course Envier came. And Ru manipulated him and turned him against me.”

“So Ruadhan is… a god now?” Kiol signed. He couldn’t even say it, he could barely sign it, it was so incomprehensible.

“Not exactly,” Creator replied. “But I suppose in some ways he got what he wanted. It _is_ his world now, isn’t it?” And Kiol helped to keep it that way. Would likely continue to do so. Because people like Domora… they were worse than Ruadhan could ever be. Kiol had no qualms about stopping such evil, even if it kept Ruadhan in power.

“So he didn’t want you to awaken,” Kiol signed slowly. “But why would he want Envier to?”

“Now that I’ve remembered it… he likely thinks he can harness Envier’s powers. If he does then he _will_ be a god, or the closest thing to it. He’s already found a way to connect his life to Envier’s so that he will not age.”

Kiol really couldn’t handle much more. He had asked, he had wanted to know, but now he understood better than ever the saying, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’ Well, ‘bliss’ didn’t exactly describe his life before, but it had been simpler and easier. Nirin shifted and Kiol looked over in time to see the boy place the flower petal that had been on his shoulder onto Kiol’s. He smiled, and the tenderness melted Kiol’s heart. How could Nirin remain so collected in the face of such information? Or had he already known? But he had said he didn’t know how Creator was so familiar with Ruadhan.

Kiol and Nirin reported the goings-on of the city and Society. They told her of the blood sigil in the forest. Creator listened intently, never commenting, never reacting. Even when they were finished all she gave was a single nod and she stood. “Please have something to eat before you go.”

And so Kiol and Nirin sat on the front stone steps, a paper lantern glowing between them as they ate veggie rice balls and watched the dark sky turn navy as dawn began to light it.

“It’ll be harder to sneak in with the light,” Kiol said. He didn’t move his head but he could read Nirin’s signs from the corner of his vision.

“You can do it anyway.”

He smirked and took another bite of the rice. “Is that encouragement or dismissal?”

“You don’t need encouragement.”

He raised his eyebrows and looked at the boy with feigned offense. “Is that so?”

Nirin took another bite of rice and gave a nod. Kiol met his eyes originally, but he couldn’t help his gaze as it wandered across Nirin’s stuffed cheeks and sauce-specked lips. He tore his eyes away and held out a handkerchief. “Don’t eat so messy.” Nirin took the offering after he swallowed, and wiped his mouth.

“You can’t say that to me,” Nirin signed, and reached over to wipe Kiol’s face. Kiol froze, shocked, and just let him do it. Nirin carefully brushed the grains of rice and vegetables from Kiol’s mouth and chin, his strokes slow and gentle. Then he folded the cloth and placed it onto Kiol’s knee. “You are even messier,” he finished.

Kiol took the cloth and stuffed it back into his pocket, ignoring the slight tremble to his hands. He pushed himself off his knees to stand. “I’d better go back now,” he stated, sticking his hands under his arms. He glanced sidelong at Nirin.

“I will stay here for a while,” Nirin signed. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” Kiol said, turning away. “Just stay safe.” He had taken a few steps towards the bridge when a hand caught the back of his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder. Nirin didn’t let go, staring at him. “Nn? What is it, kid?”

He seemed as though he wanted to say something. After a suffering pause, he forced a smile and slowly released Kiol’s shirt. “You too,” he signed. “Stay safe.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

(Nine days later.)

The door to Nirin’s room slid open. Both he and Kiol looked over in surprise, since none of the inn staff would have been so disrespectful. Kiol was already halfway to his feet, hand on the hilt of his dagger, when Corva stepped in. He stopped on one knee, staring at her. Caelin slid in after, looking very ashamed and apologetic. She offered them quite a few bows, making whatever she said invisible to Kiol. But he supposed the apologies were more to Nirin, anyway. The boy stood and patted the air reassuringly.

“Why?” Kiol demanded.

Corva crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “It was Caelin’s idea, not mine.”

Caelin looked even more humiliated at that. She stared off to the side, at the wall, a blush turning her tan cheeks rosy. Then she raised her hands and signed, slow and clumsy, “The Harvest Celebration is today. I thought… the four of us could go together.”

Kiol blinked and looked at Nirin. But Nirin, standing in front of him, didn’t meet the gaze. He tilted his head with a smile. “You learned sign-speak.”

Caelin raised her shoulders. “A little,” she signed.

“Did the Archbishop teach you?” Kiol asked. He couldn’t think of anyone else who knew sign-speak who would teach her, Ruadhan certainly wouldn’t. But the word ‘Archbishop’ made both the women bristle. Corva in her typical angry way, Caelin almost like the word terrified her.

“Of course not,” Corva barked.

Caelin waved her hands in attempt to keep the atmosphere peaceful. “I taught myself,” she signed when she had successfully quieted her twin. “Scrolls in the library. Will you come to the Harvest Celebration?” Kiol’s lip curled. A day of festivities throughout the whole city, games and entertainment and contests. All the streets, not just the market district, would be flooded with vendors and civilians from nearby farms and other towns. Absolutely nothing about it appealed to Kiol.

He brushed past Nirin before the boy replied, moving close with enough intensity that the twins both took two steps back. “Don’t ever,” he said, voice neutral but eyes burning, “come here again without permission from me or Nirin.”

“I told Corva to knock—” Caelin started to excuse, but Kiol’s look silenced her.

“Not to this door, not to this inn,” Kiol said. The twins exchanged a look.

“We can’t even come to the inn?” Corva scoffed. “You can’t keep us from here, it’s open to anyone.”

“Why would you come here?” Kiol demanded. Most soldiers weren’t allowed to sleep outside martial temple premises, so there was no reason for either of them to need use of any inn, let alone this one. It wasn’t really a question and Corva knew it. She closed her mouth and glared at him. Caelin held onto her arm, laughing nervously.

“Okay, okay, we won’t, we apologize,” she assuaged. “I just couldn’t find you anywhere in the temple, so I thought…” She shook her head, not bothering to finish. Kiol pressed his lips into a line. She shouldn't have even known where to find him, but at the same time it wasn't like his being here was unusual. He spent most days with Nirin lately, partly from fear of Ruadhan going back on his word, partly because he had nothing else to do as he hadn’t received another assignment, and partly because…

He spoke over his own thoughts. “Leave now.”

Nirin came forward then, shaking his head. “I want to go,” he signed. Caelin looked between the two of them.

Kiol frowned down at him. “It’s no fun,” he signed quickly. “Not worth it.”

“I want to go,” Nirin signed again definitively. But he softened the statement afterward with a smile and a gentle pat on Kiol’s arm. “You don’t have to come.” Nirin knew perfectly well that Kiol would not let him go alone. He grit his teeth and crossed his arms. Nirin turned his smile to the twins. “Where?” he signed.

Caelin hadn’t realized that Kiol’s actions were his acquiescence. “Well, I thought to the south district, but, we can stay north…?”

“South is okay,” Nirin signed, and gestured out of the room.

Kiol trailed after the three, arms still crossed. Like every year the city had gone to great lengths to decorate. Grain wreaths placed over doorways and windows, orange and yellow lanterns strung along eaves, pumpkins and gourds decorated streets and front steps. Red charms with seals like _Fortune - Abundance - Health_ were hanging everywhere. Paper tapestries were draped down the sides of doorways and stalls, beautiful calligraphy reading ‘Creator’s Blessings’ and ‘Ancestral Good Will’.

The south side of the city was setting up for the procession that wound through the wide main street up north to the temple, but despite the biggest street being closed off, the surroundings roads were packed with festivities and it was still stiflingly crowded. Kiol made the group stop by a bank so he could collect a hefty bundle of money, and bought Nirin a roasted sweet potato from a vendor outside. After some gentle staring from the boy, Kiol muttered under his breath and bought one for himself and the twins too.

He caught up to them at another booth, this one a game. The participant needed to toss a little paper crafted bug onto a fake spiderweb, and if they got it to stick they won a prize. On a day like this, the twins' presence couldn't disturb the high spirits and the game-master easily handed over a paper craft for Corva to throw. Even a well-trained soldier would have difficulty with such a game; paper was unpredictable as a projectile and it was almost guaranteed the game was rigged. Still, of three tries Corva landed one and was handed a bag of hard sugar candies. She immediately passed it to Caelin. Before they could walk off Kiol thrust the sweet potatoes towards them.

“Oh!” Caelin blinked up at him as though seeing him in a new light. “Thank you.”

“Not me, Nirin,” Kiol said gruffly, looking away. Caelin and Nirin smiled at each other.

Caelin shared the sweets with Nirin and they munched on the potatoes as they wandered around. Tossing rings, catching goldfish, solving riddles, string-and-hook fishing, paper folding, charm decorating, tapestry painting. There was a lot to see and do, on top of the myriad booths selling food and wares. The problem was there were so many people it was difficult to get to the front of the booths to do any of it. Still, they managed. The twins would start wriggling through a crowd and upon seeing their faces, others reflexively moved away. All Nirin had to do was tug on Kiol’s hand, point, and Kiol would forge through the cluster of bodies to make a path.

One of the booths was for fortunes. For one coin a person shook a wicker ball until three rune stones fell from the gaps onto a velvet mat, and that was their fortune. The twins had followed them here, so Nirin let Caelin go first.

_Pain - Love - Deception._ Not a great fortune, and the only positive one had come out second, which was itself a bad sign. But Caelin laughed it off and Nirin took the next.

_Deception - Hope - Death._ Seeing the ‘death’ rune tumble to the counter, Kiol’s heart skipped a beat and his muscles stiffened. He forced the feeling away. It was just a stupid game, a meaningless superstition, and it didn’t even mean the person themselves died, just that there was death in their life. Which was already true in Nirin’s case. But even after forcing his body to relax, Kiol was light-headed. Nirin only smiled at the fortune and gestured for the next ball to be handed to Kiol.

Kiol looked at it in his hands. He hadn’t wanted a fortune. But Nirin gestured encouragingly, so he sighed and shook. _Deception - Progress - Justice._ A better fortune than the others, which genuinely shocked Kiol, silly superstition or not. But another deception… Even the booth-keeper acknowledged it with raised eyebrows.

“Three deceptions in a row? How strange. We only have one rune of each inside, Creator’s promise.”

Corva scowled at the attempt to hand her one. Caelin hugged her arm and said something to her. After marked hesitation, Corva allowed it to be passed to her. Then Caelin had to nudge some more for her to finally shake it.

_Love - Loyalty - Knowledge._ Even with the best fortune, Corva’s scowl remained and she rolled her eyes. “Waste of coin,” she muttered to Caelin. Caelin just grinned at her and thanked the booth-keeper with a bow.

At another booth, Caelin and Nirin had an impromptu competition of calligraphy. Even with Nirin’s flowing, intricate style, Kiol had to admit that Caelin’s was better. Everything down to the changing stroke widths was perfectly placed and executed. As they walked off from that, Nirin pressed the seal he had made into Kiol’s palm. He furrowed his eyebrows and tried to give it back, but Nirin had already skipped forward to walk alongside Caelin and continue teaching her sign-speak.

Kiol looked down at the seal, a dark polished wood with white calligraphy. _Love - Happiness - Affection_. He’d thought it was a strange seal when Nirin first wrote it, now it seemed even stranger in his hands. He supposed Nirin just didn’t want to hold it. He tucked it into a pocket.

Late afternoon saw them sitting around a table of a restaurant eating bowls of hot noodle soup. The procession would start in the evening, when the sun went down and the sky was lit by the thousands of paper lanterns decorating the streets. Kiol and Corva wanted to return, but Nirin and Caelin wanted to see it. Naturally, the latter two got what they wanted, so they had a few hours to waste.

All three soldiers were used to eating large meals in fifteen minutes, so they had long since finished and sat around the table munching roasted chestnuts as Nirin ate at a more normal pace. Caelin was explaining the significance of the embroidery they’d seen in the streets. Kiol watched her with half-closed eyes, elbow propped on the table and head leaning on his fist.

“You should be a disciple,” he said when the conversation lulled. It suited Caelin far better than martial arts ever could. But Corva and Caelin froze, eyes glued on Kiol as though he told them he had spat in the soups they’d just eaten.

Corva was almost too upset for words. “You—” she began through clenched teeth, then seemed to think better of it and just glared at him.

Caelin fidgeted with her chopsticks, staring into her empty bowl. Even Nirin seemed affected by the change of atmosphere, putting down his own bowl and looking at Kiol. But Kiol couldn’t read his expression and gave him an innocent shrug to show he hadn’t meant any offense.

“I was,” Caelin finally said with a sigh. “For a brief period of time. I would gladly return, but of course they won’t let me.”

“Won’t let you?” Kiol questioned. Corva seemed as though she wanted to say something, but stopped herself again and looked away, gripping the table with white knuckles.

Caelin nodded, setting her utensils down and straightening a little. “My sister and I were abandoned when we were kids…” Corva elbowed her and Caelin elbowed her right back, continuing. “I was very sick and our parents couldn’t afford the medicine, and, they were reluctant to rear us anyway… we were twins, after all. I don’t remember much from back then. Corva took care of me, found shelter and food and medicine. But I guess… well it wasn’t always in the most moral of ways. We had to move from town to town because my sister always got labeled a thief and miscreant. But she had to, even with temple charity it wasn’t enough to keep us both alive, especially with my illness. But in one town Corva pick-pocketed a priest and instead of confronting her, the priest followed her back to me. When she saw the state I was in, she took us in. With her care I got better. She taught us to read and write, calligraphy, sewing…” Corva clenched her jaw so hard Kiol wondered if she was splitting any teeth. “She never minded that we were twins, never treated us any differently, never blamed unfortunate accidents and situations on us.” Kiol’s scalp tingled and an echoing void seemed to have filled his ears, but he couldn’t look away, still reading Caelin’s lips. “But, in the end, our nature…” Caelin pressed her lips together and swallowed. After steeling herself she continued, “She contracted a sickness of her own. Corva and I tried, we tried everything but, she…”

“She died,” Corva said for her, eyes and face cold.

Caelin nodded. “The townspeople ran us out of town. I wanted to be a disciple, I wanted to become a priest like Yvelis, but of course no temple would take a twin. It was Corva’s idea to come to the capital. So many people here, and far away from our home, we wouldn’t be known or recognized. I went to the Society temple and Corva became a soldier, and for a while everything was good, even if we had to sneak around to see each other. But eventually it was found out that we were twins. The disciples shunned me and the head priests complained to the Archbishop, pointing out all the terrible things that had happened since I’d arrived. So finally one of the priests kicked me out, saying I had broken the rules by lying. I had never said I wasn’t a twin, though.” Bitterness had taken over Caelin’s features, but as soon as Kiol noticed she seemed to realize as well and smoothed her expression. She glanced at her sister.

Corva’s face remained bleak and icy, but she spoke, “Unlike those churlish halfwits, Ruadhan didn’t care. He even let Caelin become a soldier with me.”

Kiol looked down at the table and shrugged off Nirin’s hand on his arm. He didn’t see anything else the twins said. After a minute he dropped money onto the table and stood. “The procession will start soon,” he said, though there was still at least an hour. He didn’t look at the others before walking out.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Nirin caught up to Kiol but didn’t try to comfort him again. He simply walked beside him and Kiol stared forward as though the boy wasn’t even there. But with no warning, Nirin’s presence was absent from his side. Kiol stopped and spun around, heart in his throat, to discover that the boy had only stopped walking and was looking off into the crowd. Kiol was back with him in two strides and followed his gaze to a man struggling through the masses.

He recognized him. It was the gambling den owner who’d been attacked by the thugs.

Kiol grabbed Nirin’s arm to drag him away before the man could make it over, but he hadn’t even touched Nirin’s sleeve before the boy imperceptibly moved away. Sterren finally made it to them, huffing for breath. He leaned on his knees as he spoke, “You— you— you kid, help me out!” Nirin nodded and he beamed. “Really? Yes, good! Come here!” He took Nirin’s wrist and started leading him through the crowd.

As soon as the man’s palm made contact, heat rushed to Kiol’s head. Nirin avoided his touch but let this annoying man grab him?! They hadn’t gone far before Kiol yanked the man’s hand off Nirin and Sterren glanced back in surprise.

“You can lead without dragging,” Kiol said coldly. The man rubbed his arm, looking anxious.

“Sure, sure,” he said, and continued. Nirin patted Kiol’s chest, smiling up at him, and followed Sterren again. He led them into a building, up three floors and over one, to what Kiol realized belatedly was a gambling den. He wanted to spit blood. Instead he stuck close to Nirin and put on his most sour expression as a young woman approached, dressed in flowing almost translucent robes.

“You’re back,” she said to Sterren, with as much enthusiasm as a clothespin. Sterren nodded vigorously.

“Yes, is she here? I’d like to play one last game.”

“Another? I don’t mean to offend, sir, but I don’t know what else you have to bet. And she’s quite busy just now…”

“I’ll give her my life,” Sterren blurted out. “Whatever she wants to do with me, make me into a slave, a sacrifice, I don’t care! But if I win, I want what she won back. Tell her that. Go tell her!”

The lady blinked at him, but seemed to understand that ‘no’ would just cause more inconvenience and grief. With a sigh she turned around and flitted to the back of the room.

“What the hell did you get us into?” Kiol asked. Sterren waved him away. Nirin hadn’t moved, standing calmly behind the man, so Kiol huffed an annoyed breath, crossed his arms, and waited too. When the woman had disappeared behind a thick curtain, Sterren spun to face Nirin.

“You’ll help me win, right?” he whispered frantically. “Last time wasn’t a fluke, was it?” Nirin nodded and shook his head respectively. Sterren patted his shoulders with both hands gratefully, absently, not stopping until Kiol shoved him. Sterren took a step back and looked at him. “Why are you here?” Kiol’s cold, emotionless stare was enough to make him drop the question and turn back around.

The young lady came back, a dubious look creasing her perfectly painted face. “She will see you,” she said, and gestured for him to go.

Behind the curtain was a lavish room similar to Sterren’s own back room, only much more opulent. The game table was low to the ground but every inch of the dark wood, aside from the velvet inlaid top, was carved into tiny detailed scenes of animals and people. Silks and cushions were placed strategically around, a velvet low sofa was tucked into one corner and at its other end was a table full of glass decanters of wine and stocked with dishes of extravagant food. Even fresh peach slices were laid out, and Kiol hadn’t seen those for months.

A woman sat on the sofa with an easel in front of her, painting. Her confidence and assurance reminded Kiol of Domora, but the resemblance ended there. She was dressed conservatively but in silks and jewels of the highest quality, and her cosmetics were refined, not gaudy. Her coiled-back hair didn’t have a strand out of place and was decorated with draping chains of silver as thin as a strand of hair itself. She was the very picture of sophistication. She paid them no mind when they first came in and the three stood there, Sterren shifting between his feet anxiously.

Finally the woman set down her brush and turned to them. “Brother,” she greeted warmly. Kiol glanced between them, not believing they were siblings. Not only did they look nothing alike, they acted nothing alike. There was no way they were brought up in the same household. Sterren strode forward.

“You agree to the terms then? We’ll have another game?”

Her smile was gentle and apologetic. “I did not say I agreed. Just that I will see you.”

“Is that not the same thing?” Sterren demanded. “Don’t agree and then back out!”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Please, Ster. Don’t cause a scene.”

“You’re the one who already caused a scene! Humiliating me! For what? To teach me a lesson?” She watched him without saying anything but her silence just made his face redder. “Cut the crap! I get it, okay! So I’m not asking you to hand me anything anymore, I’ll win it back on my own!”

_You just asked Nirin to win for you,_ Kiol thought, irritated.

“That isn’t why I—” she stopped herself and sighed. Then she stood and gestured. Kiol stepped aside as two staff rushed inside and began setting up the table. Kiol had thought they would be playing that same awful card game as before, or another one he didn’t know, but it was a board for Sword Six. When the staff were done, the woman looked at Nirin. “So you’re encouraging this?” she asked. Kiol frowned at the rudeness, but Nirin only nodded.

“You always have your little entourage with you!” Sterren spoke up quickly. “I thought I could bring support of my own this time.”

“They can stay,” she said, with emphasis to mean she had not been planning on kicking them out anyway. “And wouldn’t you know, I sent both my boys off to enjoy the celebration, so it’ll be just me today.” She sat on one side of the board, adjusting her skirts. Sterren sat at the other and Nirin took a spot slightly behind and to the side of him. Kiol continued to stand, arms crossed.

“Won’t you have a seat?” the woman asked. He shook his head. She smiled and blinked a few times, but didn’t take her eyes off his face. Sterren turned around.

“Sit down, sit down,” he rushed. “We can’t play if you’re standing there peaking at everything.”

Kiol stared back. So they thought he’d cheat. Wasn’t Sterren already kind of cheating? Kiol still hadn’t moved when Nirin gave him the slightest tilt of his head in a beckoning gesture. So with a few breathless grumbles he sat on Nirin’s other side. Sterren was already leagues better at the game than Kiol was, lying strategically and placing his rune pieces more calculatingly. But he called every single one of his opponent’s lies without falling into a trap. At first Kiol couldn’t determine how Nirin was telling him. The boy sat straight and immobile, hands resting atop each other in his lap, watching the game. Only after halfway through did Kiol notice that every once in a while, Nirin would tap his finger against the back of his other hand a few times, and seconds later Sterren would call. At the end of the game, Sterren had five pieces left after capturing all the woman’s. When he took the last one he slapped it onto his side of the table with a triumphant grin.

“See! You can’t win against me without your stupid toys!”

The woman was watching him closely, not quite suspicious, but intrigued. “They don’t help me win,” she dismissed casually. “If anything they’re a distraction.”

Sterren lifted up on his knees and held out a hand. “Give it back.” She examined his palm, then looked up at his face, which almost instantly turned red. “Are you not going to?!”

“I would like to play against him first.” She nodded at Nirin. Sterren glanced at him in guilty surprise, but quickly recovered a neutral face.

“Why?”

“Because I would like to,” she repeated. He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing.

“He doesn’t talk,” Sterren warned, but Nirin had already moved up to the table and Kiol followed.

“I can speak for him,” Kiol said.

“Aren’t you worried they’ll cheat?” Sterren asked. Kiol’s icy gaze swept across him but he wasn’t even looking.

“No matter,” the woman said. “We don’t have to play for a bet, so cheating or not is no issue.”

“I would like to bet,” Nirin signed. Kiol glanced down at him in shock, but he looked expectantly back up at him.

“He would… like to bet,” Kiol said.

“Okay,” the woman agreed. “For what are we playing, then?”

Nirin stared her in the eyes as he signed, “I want my flute back.” Kiol was too surprised to repeat right away, but a corner of the woman’s lips turned up. Had she understood? Did she and Nirin already know each other? Kiol watched her without saying anything.

“And if you lose?” she asked.

“I will make you a more powerful instrument.”

Her smirk turned into a smile at that, not pleased, but… amused. She knew she couldn’t win anyway. She agreed to the terms and one of the staff from before rushed over again to remake the board and shuffle the card deck. Sterren also realized something was going on and he watched the game with focus. Of course, Nirin could only win. There was something new to his calmness and confidence as he played. Kiol did not watch the game, he couldn’t take his eyes off the side of Nirin’s face long enough. The way he studied the board, how he glanced at his card for a mere second before putting it down as though he hadn’t even seen it, the sharp movement of his eyes as he glanced between all the pieces. He was so serious, so focused. So intelligent. Kiol always knew, of course, but Nirin covered it with softness and eye-smiles. To see it spelled out so plainly on his face, in his strategizing... a hot lump formed in Kiol’s chest.

When the game was over, Nirin with ten pieces left, the woman’s shoulders shook with laughter. “How fun,” she commented. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to play together.” Nirin nodded. Sterren glanced between them, the confusion Kiol refused to show plastered across his face enough for the both of them.

“You… you know each other?” he asked, incredulous.

“Oh yes,” the woman sighed, patting her chest. “Many years now. Well, we don’t see each other much anymore, do we?” Nirin nodded. “And certainly not for some casual games.” She laughed again, then stood and went over to a wall. With one knock on it, a line split down its middle and she pushed open a secret compartment. She took out a flute and a handful of things including a small statue, a folded paper, and a jade waist ornament.

She handed the others to Sterren, who grabbed them all and started checking over the ornament carefully. The flute she handed to Nirin.

“You were going to get it back eventually,” she told him.

“I’d rather have it back now,” he signed. He tied it into his sash and stood. “Thank you.” He gave her a bow. She dipped her head back. Then Nirin started out, and Kiol quickly followed.

“Who the hell was that?” he muttered as they walked, rather briskly, back to the street.

“Tori,” Nirin signed. Kiol halted, but Nirin didn’t so he had to start moving again almost as soon as he’d stopped.

“That was the—” Kiol couldn’t finish, even in sign-speak it was too risky. The leader of the Cult of Envy. Well, the cult was certainly doing much better for itself than it had been when Kiol murdered most of them in the dingy underground cave system they’d made. “What’s so special about your flute?” he signed.

Nirin just smiled and patted it, safe under his outer robes. Not long after, two familiar faces dodged through the crowd towards them.

“There you are!” Caelin said. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, we thought you had left!”

“Caelin’s been looking everywhere,” Corva corrected.

Caelin spoke over her. “The procession is about to start!” She hurried them after her. They managed to force their way through the people thick as sand around the main street.

The procession was orderly, but with so many a part of its long, snaking line, it looked as crowded as the sides of the street. The front of the line was a huge, grotesque monster. Its head was too big for its body and thus too heavy, lolling to the side as though its neck were broken. Its swollen tongue hung from its mouth, its bulbous eyes staring up but in two different directions, and its pale face was covered in blue veins. Wispy hair hung off its skull in patches and it had not four limbs, but seven. Its small, floppy body wavered and pulsated. This was because it was held up by twenty people. Despite looking like real flesh and hair, it was made mostly from paper and it was the people underneath, moving in unison, that made it especially gruesome.

Most soldiers got the day off to celebrate but two groups didn’t— guard patrols around the city and the ones part of the parade, but they were two vastly different roles. In the procession, the soldiers went through a routine of moves and though it was choreographed and beautiful, it was really just showing off. They walked behind the monster, as though attacking it when they were really attacking air, moving in time with each other. Behind them was a long parade of disciples, carrying paper lanterns on sticks with prosperous runes written down their sides. Then more giant costumes of dragons, tigers, and other creatures, then beautiful women throwing colorful ribbons and candy to the crowd.

As the tail of the parade went by, the guards blocking the street allowed the crowds past and they flooded after, carrying their own homemade charms and banners and lanterns. Kids snatched up dropped ribbons and candy from the ground. Kiol had no choice, with bodies pressing in from all sides and urging them onward, he followed. The feel of being surrounded, helpless, crashed into him like the waves of people but he couldn’t move any faster or slower to escape.

Chilly fingers grasped onto his own. He glanced at Nirin beside him, but Kiol couldn’t watch him for long, he had to watch where he was going so he did not step on other’s feet. The slender hand in his almost slipped out as the crowd bustled them along but they both simultaneously adjusted, clasping each other’s palms more securely.

Eventually the whole procession reached the Society temple, crossing over the bridge and settling in the eastern courtyard. The monster and some of the soldiers had gone up onto a stage set there, battling. It was exaggerated and ridiculous, but that didn’t stop the cheers from the crowd, and people tossed flowers and charms of protection or strength up onto the stage.

Then from the bottom of the stage, a veiled figure clothed in ethereal robes of crimson silk slowly stepped up the stairs. As they walked towards the monster, they gently laid a palm on the shoulders of those they passed, and the soldiers one-by-one stopped fighting and dropped to a knee, bowing not just in worship, but with rested relief. The crowd’s cheers had fallen to murmurs and electric excitement that buzzed across the thousands of heads. People lifted their children to their shoulders to watch as Creator, alone among the stage of bowed soldiers, confronted the monster.

It charged. With a single outstretched hand, Creator stopped its attack, froze it in its place. Then she raised her hand and swiped down, and the monster exploded into a burst of ribbons. The people beneath the costume dropped to the floor and the deflated body fell with them in a heap. Cheers erupted through the crowd, people throwing their hands high.

Kiol looked above the heads and the hands, to the balcony on the third floor of the temple. Ruadhan stood with the Archbishop, cold eyes locked onto the stage, face and body rigid. The Archbishop was smiling, much gentler, and giving the occasional nod to the crowd as he was noticed and praised. Two soldiers stood from the others and pulled on strings dangling from the balcony. Two silk tapestries with impeccable red calligraphy painted down their gleaming white faces unraveled, all the way to the ground from the third floor.

Creator’s Blessings. Ancestral Good Will.

A sharp movement turned Kiol’s gaze to the side. Caelin had whipped to look at him over Nirin’s head, her eyes strange. “Do you have that charm still?” she asked. “The tainted charm?”

He did. He had just left it in his vest. He handed it over but she wasn’t interested in taking it, she only gave it a glance, and her face paled so that her complexion almost matched Nirin’s skin tone. She met Kiol’s eyes again. “That’s it,” her mouth read. “It’s the same calligraphy.” Kiol glanced at the seal on the charm, then up at the tapestries. They did look similar. Nirin gripped his wrist and lowered the charm to inspect it as well. Then he glanced up at Kiol, too.

With two of their hands clasped and now the other two connected, they couldn’t sign, but Nirin didn’t need to sign for Kiol to know. The boy agreed with Caelin— the calligraphy was the same. And only one person ever painted the Harvest Celebration tapestries.

Kiol looked up at the Archbishop smiling down at all his subjects.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

Even after the procession was over and the crowd dispersed, most didn’t go far. Huge groups of people wandered the temple grounds, sat in gazebos, admired the gardens, talking and laughing. Kiol pulled Nirin across the bridge and through the streets, trying to find somewhere private. But on a day like this, there wasn’t a single street corner free. He decided to return to the inn. When he reached Nirin’s room door, he realized they were still being followed and he turned around to Caelin and Corva.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Caelin hesitated, scratching her face and looking away. “I thought… we could help. I—well I know the temple grounds well and, charms…”

Kiol paused. “You can help. She can’t.” He nodded to Corva.

“If my sister is getting involved with your bullshit, so am I. You already dragged her off on some other mission without me, didn’t you? That’s not happening again.” Kiol looked at her but she met his gaze defiantly. She stuck out an arm. “Break my arm again if you want, I’m still staying.”

“I didn’t break your arm,” Kiol said. Corva scowled. He didn’t care enough. He turned and went into the room, letting them decide whether to follow or not. Once inside he realized he was still holding tight to Nirin’s hand and let him go quickly, subconsciously wiping his palms on his shirt. “Sorry,” he muttered. Nirin smiled and cleaned off the table for everyone to sit around it.

“Why would the Archbishop give me a tainted charm?” Kiol asked when they were all seated. Nirin tilted his head in thought, but Caelin spoke first.

“Well, it may not be tainted at all,” she said. “I couldn’t tell that it was. Could you?” she asked Nirin. Nirin shook his head but was still looking at Kiol and Kiol understood without any words. That message, from the blind man. It had said the charm was tainted. Maybe it was wrong, Creator herself had admitted her future knowledge was fallible. The note had also said not to allow one of the twins to get involved, but they both were now. Kiol sighed into his teeth. It was too late, and even if it wasn’t, he had to stop using some random dead man’s message as a guiding beacon.

“What can we do about it anyway?” he muttered. “Go and ask Hida directly?”

“He likes you,” Nirin signed slowly. “Why would he give you a tainted charm? What was the seal again?” Kiol took it out and dropped it on the table. _Strength - Protection - Solace._

“Weakness, danger, anguish,” Caelin said. Kiol stared blankly at her. “Those would be the opposites,” she explained. “If it was tainted, that is what it would bring to you.”

“Well I’m not weakened,” Kiol said. “And nothing is dangerous to me.” Granted, that didn’t mean the intent behind the charm wasn’t bad, because tainted or not Kiol knew it wouldn’t do shit.

“And anguish?” Corva raised an eyebrow. Kiol looked back at her flatly.

“No,” he said.

Caelin waved her sister off. “Why would the Archbishop want you to be weak, in danger, and in anguish?” Caelin asked. “That’s the question.”

“If I thought someone would get in my way, that’s what I would bestow upon them,” Corva said.

Kiol looked at Nirin. “You said he was planning something,” he signed. Nirin nodded. “Maybe it was something I could get in the way of…” His hands fell to the table and he stared forward.

“What?” Nirin signed.

“The letter,” Kiol whispered. Ruadhan would have long ago destroyed it, but it had mentioned the Archbishop, Kiol was sure of it. Hida was the one who gave the archivist the painting. Then Ruadhan had the archivist killed… had Ruadhan known where the man had gotten it? Had Ruadhan just not wanted to kill the Archbishop? “Ruadhan,” Kiol said. “He’s going to do something to Ruadhan, he’s worried I’ll stop it, that I’ll protect him.”

“Wait—what? Huh?” Caelin shook her head. “The Archbishop? Why would the Archbishop turn against the Temple General? They’ve worked together for decades, they’re an unstoppable pair.”

Kiol stared down at the table, mind reeling. “I don’t know.” If they’d known each other for that long, based on the painting, it went without question that the Archbishop knew of Ruadhan’s eternal youth. There could be any number of reasons to turn against him. To take the eternal life for himself or perhaps to stop Ruadhan’s centuries-long reign? He shook his head. “Wait. But that’s what we want.” He was talking to Nirin but the twins both raised their eyebrows.

“Excuse me?” Corva barked.

Kiol glanced at them, then switched to sign-speak. “The Archbishop is wrong to think I would stop him. We should just let him do what he wants to Ruadhan and we’ll wait to see the results.”

Nirin shook his head. “That is conjecture. You don’t know his plan is really to turn on Ruadhan, and with you staying in the sect, you could get tangled up in this anyway. Or, if you did nothing to protect Ruadhan but Ruadhan got out unscathed, wouldn’t he realize your loyalties have changed and get rid of you?”

Kiol crossed his arms. “He can’t get rid of me,” he said. Ruadhan wouldn’t anyway, would he? The soldier he’d personally trained, the boy he practically raised… he wouldn’t mercilessly kill him. Kiol remembered Ruadhan’s emotionless smile when he’d asked if the archivist was a rebel. _“He was a friend.”_ Maybe he would.

The twins had both been talking and Kiol had been ignoring them, but he turned his attention to them then. “—everything he does for us, for the city,” Caelin was saying.

“Calm down,” Kiol said. “You’re the ones who wanted to be part of this. Leave if you want.”

“But you do?” Corva asked. “You want to get rid of Ruadhan?”

“No,” Kiol said, and it was the truth. “It might not be the Archbishop’s desire either. It was a guess.”

“So we’re back at the beginning,” Caelin said. “Why would the Archbishop give you a tainted charm? Uh— possibly tainted,” she amended. “Maybe it was just a normal charm, and he’s trying to help you.”

But that just brought the question of why the Archbishop would feel the need to give him protection all of a sudden, and from what. By the rest of their expressions, they realized this too. It was a mystery either way. Asking Hida straight was out of the question, so Kiol would have to learn another way.

“I can get into his personal quarters,” Kiol signed.

Corva slammed the table. “Stop signing!” she snapped. “It’s suspicious!”

“So?” Kiol asked coldly. “I don’t care.”

“Stop, stop it,” Caelin flustered, pulling at her sister’s arm. “I understand a little anyway. He thinks he can get into something.”

_I don’t think I can,_ Kiol commented silently, annoyed. _I know I can._

She had said it to Corva but Kiol thought it was more a reminder to him, that his and Nirin’s signs were no longer as secret as they thought. He frowned at her but the woman just looked back with pleading eyes. “I want to help,” she said.

“Why?” Kiol asked.

“You’ve already helped me a bunch,” Caelin pointed out. Kiol was not impressed. She sighed and looked away. “And… well, I’m not a huge fan of the Archbishop. He did nothing to stop me from being kicked out of his stupid temple. And he’s just a figurehead, even if the city doesn’t know it, Ruadhan is the one who does everything. Actually protects people, helps them.”

Kiol said nothing. Corva rolled her eyes. “Forget it, Cae. Let’s just go.”

“No,” Caelin said to her, turning back to Kiol. “I know the temple grounds well and anyway, I can be a distraction if you need it.”

“And Corva?” he asked.

Caelin looked pleadingly at her sister. The woman sighed and clenched her jaw. “Whatever, I don’t like the guy either,” she muttered. “If Caelin is helping, I’ll help.”

Kiol looked to Nirin but the boy watched the twins with a masked expression and didn’t meet his gaze, so he couldn’t determine anything Nirin might have thought. If it turned out the Archbishop was plotting against Ruadhan, the twins would likely want to put a stop to it. Well, it wasn’t like Kiol cared, they could do what they wanted. They all could, and he would stay out of the way and wait for the dust to settle. But he needed to figure out what role he had in this first so he could get out of it.

“Fine,” he said. “You can help.”

.

The temple was quiet. All disciples went to sleep at nine exactly, and the guards that patrolled the perimeter were lazy about it too. No one ever dared break into Society grounds. Except the four doing it that night.

They’d gone through several different plans. Kiol had spent every day of three years going to Hida’s quarters to study, so he had the most intimate knowledge of the place. At first consideration, one would think going during the day would be the best option. The grounds were open to whoever, and Hida would likely be dealing with his various responsibilities, out of his quarters. This was what Corva and Caelin suggested.

But during the day the grounds were swarming with not only disciples but civilians. A lot of people to see them, especially four as conspicuous as them; twins, the deadliest soldier in the sect, and a stunningly beautiful man. And if Hida wasn’t in his quarters that made it all the more suspicious to see anyone going there. Beside, Kiol knew what few others did; at night, when all the other disciples went to sleep, Hida walked the gardens for hours. Kiol knew the schedules and habits of every prominent figure in the city, so of course he knew the Archbishop’s.

The twins were intermediate soldiers, and Nirin wasn’t a soldier at all, so Kiol was worried the whole thing would fall apart before they even got inside. If it was just him alone it would be the easiest thing in the world, but he couldn’t expect the others to climb and hang and jump and see in the dark like he did. So crawling along the underside of the bridge, climbing onto the roof and moving around there, or hiding in ceilings were all out of the question.

They went over the wall that surrounded most of the grounds. Rudimentary, old school, but it worked. Kiol hopped up first, checked that no one was around, then he reached down for Nirin’s hands and pulled him up.

He hadn’t wanted Nirin to come at all, but the boy had insisted. His knowledge of runes and all that could prove useful anyway, and Kiol didn’t forget that his life was potentially— probably— in danger when they were apart. At least together, even doing such a thing as this, Kiol could protect him. Nirin wore pants and a short tunic for once, and his hair was braided and tied up in a knot, a look that really didn’t suit him. Somehow it was still cute.

Kiol jumped to the ground and turned with arms outstretched to catch Nirin. The boy crouched on top of the wall, gripping it and staring back at him with an ashen face. “Hurry, before you’re seen,” Kiol signed. Nirin gave a slight shake of his head and Kiol furrowed his eyebrows back. “I’ll catch you, I promise.” Another shake of his head.

The twins had already vaulted over the wall and were waiting off to the side. When Kiol glanced at them they gestured for answers, but he had none to give them either.

“Nirin,” Kiol whispered, low and worried. The boy hadn’t stopped clinging to the wall, and wouldn’t lift a hand to sign anything either. If he was scared of heights, Kiol really wished the boy had said something before this.

He jumped up and caught the edge of the wall. Then, dangling off it with one hand, offered his other to Nirin. Like a scared kitten, the boy got one trembling arm then the other around Kiol’s neck, and clung tight to him. Kiol wrapped Nirin tight as a vice and hopped back down. “It’s okay,” he murmured once both his feet were on solid ground again. He jostled the boy a little. “Look.”

Nirin lifted his face from where he had wedged it into Kiol’s neck, then shakily unstuck himself from Kiol’s torso. Kiol kept an arm around his waist to keep him balanced. When Nirin seemed stable, Kiol gestured for the others to follow. Naturally they couldn’t go straight across the grounds, instead maneuvering in a sort of corkscrew fashion as Kiol kept them between the guard patrols and away from the gardens Hida was most likely wandering around. Once inside the temple it was easier; the corridors were dark and everyone was asleep.

The Archbishop’s quarters were far more luxurious than Ruadhan’s. Dozens of tapestries were on walls and pillars, extinguished lotus lamps hung from the ceiling, and exquisite porcelain vases lined the sides of the corridor. Ruadhan’s quarters were stark, but large, holding an office, his bed chambers, a private bath, and a prison. Hida had only a private worship hall and his bed chambers, though granted his bed chambers had a private bath and a study, but both were small. None of it was locked.

Kiol went to the study first. He was so familiar with it he could have navigated even without night vision but the room had no windows so he took a candle from his vest and lit it for the others to be able to see. Then they worked through the shelves and drawers. Scrolls, bound papers, paper talismans— for such a small study it was packed. A lot of it was sermons and speeches. None of it was useful. Even the talismans had no trace of the runes on Kiol’s charm. After covering every inch, checking the desk for secret compartments, looking in vases, nothing stood out to any of them.

The bedroom had even less, though it was full of wall tapestries and the futon had five layers of blankets over it. Nothing in the wardrobe, nothing, nothing, nothing. Kiol even checked the bath for good measure.

There was really only one place left to check, though Kiol knew nothing would be there anyway. The Archbishop’s private worship hall.

It was bigger than his bedroom. An altar stood at the far wall, full of fresh food, incense, and other offerings. A medium-sized statue of Creator sat behind it, legs crossed and hands resting gently on her knees. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. Kiol had been in here a couple times on Hida’s insistence. Then, the white candles that lined the walls and shelves like a wave had all been lit. As little as Kiol cared for worship and farces like that, he could admit it was a calm and beautiful atmosphere to be in. In the dark it felt different. Foreboding.

He held Nirin’s arm and kept him close.

Even with the hundred or so candles and the pile of dishes on the altar, the place didn’t seem cluttered. It was immaculately clean and everything was strategically placed. He swept his gaze over the candles, along the floor, looking for any hint of a secret compartment, paying attention to the floor beneath his steps to see if he could feel a hollow.

He got to the altar table and stared down at it. Bowls of soup, plates of vegetables in sauces, piles of dumplings and steamed buns. It was all cold now but fresh food was put there every morning by the Archbishop himself. It was such a waste. Kiol sighed in disgust and crouched to peer under the table.

It was an ordinary, simple table, pressed back against the stone dais that supported Creator’s statue. Kiol remembered when Ruadhan brought him to the Envier remnant and he stood again. “Stay here,” he told Nirin, and went around the side. The dais was against the back wall, nearly reaching Kiol’s hip, and the sitting statue was several heads higher than his. The dais made of granite and the statue made of marble should have been as immovable as the building itself. Kiol gripped the edge, braced his feet against the floor, and pushed.

At first nothing happened. It took considerable strength, and he wasn’t even sure if he was just pushing futilely against stone. But then with a crack that he felt vibrate up his arms, the dais slid. As he pushed, a dark line stretched wider beneath him until it gaped into a square hole with a steep staircase leading into the ground.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**||TW: body horror||**

The stairs went so far that even with his sight, Kiol only saw them fading into nothing. It likely just looked like a pitch black void to the others. He still had the candle he came with but he grabbed one from the floor for good measure and descended into the darkness. After some minutes of walking he finally saw ground, and turned back around to get the others.

With the twins holding the candles, the four of them stepped into a dirt tunnel. Three people could stand with arms outstretched along the width and the ceiling was equally tall. The dirt was packed tight so that it was almost as clean as any building. And it was all very familiar.

“This is…” Kiol looked back at Nirin. “That tunnel system I told you about. Under the bath house.” Nirin nodded. His pale face looked even more solemn in the flickering candle light. It may not have been the exact same, but surely there wouldn’t be two entirely different tunnels beneath the city that were dug so similarly? Kiol rubbed between his eyebrows and kept walking. There was no sign or scent of another person having been in here recently. They walked for nearly fifteen minutes and nothing changed. Kiol was about to suggest they go back when Nirin suddenly took Caelin’s candle and the front of the line, continuing forward. Kiol had no choice but to follow close behind.

“What is it?” he signed.

Caelin and Corva were walking at his side now and Corva glanced at him. “You don’t hear that?” she asked. Kiol curled his lip at her and her face smoothed in guilty revelation. “There’s a weird noise,” she explained. “Like… squelching? And… groaning.”

Kiol’s scowl only deepened into disgust. “Why would we go towards that?” he asked. Corva shrugged and gestured to Nirin.

“It might be something important,” Nirin signed, awkward and one-handed. “Or… maybe someone who needs help.” Kiol’s mind went to the thirteen people he’d lost in these tunnels and his pace quickened. The path diverged for the first time into three separate tunnels. Kiol couldn’t see any trail, but Nirin only paused for a few seconds before continuing down the right one. After several more forks Kiol reached out and grabbed Nirin’s collar, yanking him back from the precipice he almost stepped over.

The four all stumbled back, Corva with a protective arm in front of Caelin and Kiol hugging Nirin to his chest. But after the initial shock, Nirin was already straining to move closer again, holding the candle out to try and see into the depths.

“It’s just darkness,” Corva said.

“But the noises,” Caelin said, face twisted in disgusted horror.

Kiol pushed Nirin behind himself and walked to the edge.

His eyes widened and his heart stuttered. For a second he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

Then blood rushed to his head and he staggered back a few steps, colliding with someone behind him. He spun around. It was only Nirin, who immediately grabbed onto his arm and peered up at him worriedly.

“What?” Corva asked. The twins were both unsettled to see Kiol, of all people, shaken like that. “What’s down there?”

Kiol gripped both of Nirin’s arms, practically carrying him as he strode far from the cliff edge. Corva and Caelin followed without question.

How could Kiol describe what he saw? Mangled flesh, as though someone had twisted it like clay. Dragging limbs, too many for one body to have. Swollen heads on broken necks and bulbous eyes like they’d burst open at any second. Almost a dozen of them, milling around listlessly, schlepping their bodies along with great agony but so warped they could not rest without more pain. Too human to be called monster, too sickening to be called human.

“Go,” Kiol said, suddenly out of breath. “We must go.”

“What was it?” Caelin signed. Kiol shook his head and pulled Nirin back into the tunnels. The boy followed without protest and after exchanging a look and glancing back one last time, the twins did as well.

Once they were far enough away Kiol tried, haltingly, to describe what he had seen.

“Like the monster in the procession?” Corva asked when they finally understood what he was saying.

Kiol nodded, paused, then replaced the nod with a shrug. “Maybe,” he said. “It was… worse.”

“Creator was supposed to kill all those monsters centuries ago,” Caelin said.

“They were trapped,” Kiol said. “They were surrounded by walls.”

“So some of them got stuck in here and escaped Creator’s notice?” Corva suggested.

“That’s impossible,” Caelin said. “Monsters or not, they have to eat or something, right? They couldn’t have survived centuries.” She frowned at Kiol’s expression. “What?”

“Maybe… can’t eat,” he said slowly. “Their mouths were…” Well, they were all different. Their bodies mangled in different ways, with different limbs, some had normal mouths, some crooked and skewed. He sighed and looked to Nirin.

Nirin tilted his head back and smiled.

“You have nothing to say to any of this?” Kiol signed.

“Tunnels,” he signed.

Kiol looked around at them. The tunnels had led to the precipice. “Were the tunnels already here even back then?” he mused out loud. The creatures had to have been trapped down here somehow. "Or were they made because someone was looking for them.” Had the Archbishop been looking for those creatures?

“Or someone put them in there,” Caelin pointed out, then quieted. For some reason that was the worst possibility. They stared in silence, the flickering candles making their dread even more dramatic. None of this was looking good for the Archbishop.

“Well what can we even do?” Corva asked. “Should we tell the Temple General?”

“No,” Kiol said. He wanted to pretend like they never saw anything. But Caelin looked doubtful.

“From old legends, they did a lot of damage to humans. They could be used as weapons, maybe that’s why they’re being kept… saved for that purpose. We should destroy them.”

“How?” Kiol asked, but it wasn’t a real question. Everyone knew, the Harvest Celebration retold it every year: no amount of people had been able to defeat the monsters, only Creator was able to. Kiol glanced at Nirin again, but couldn’t discern what emotion hid behind his calm eyes.

“That story could be exaggerated,” Caelin said. “Maybe they aren’t so invincible. We can try burning them?”

Kiol wondered, if they knew how truly human those things had looked, if they would be suggesting these things. “Where did the monsters first come from?” he asked. He’d never heard anyone explain that, but he never paid much attention in the first place. From the looks the others exchanged, though, they didn’t know either. “They may have once been human.” Shivers crawled up their spines and tingled their scalps.

Corva scowled, annoyed at her own apprehension. “And what could have possibly turned them into that?”

Kiol shrugged. “Nothing we can do now,” he reiterated, then started to walk again. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

He followed the trail of disturbed dirt they’d left behind. With no natural light it was hard to tell how long they’d been in there, but Kiol thought it must have been an hour or more. They had to get back to the surface and close the passage again before their trespassing was noticed.

A dark splotch caught his eye and he paused. A sigil was painted on the wall with fresh blood. It definitely hadn’t been there before, when they were coming this way. But there was no sign of another presence. Kiol moved closer, examining it. The candlelight from the others was coming closer, but he didn’t need that to see it perfectly. It was not anything like the other two sigils he had seen. He raised his hand to give it the barest of touches, curious.

Nirin’s candle lit the wall just in time to see Kiol’s hand approaching the sigil there. The candle fell to the ground and Nirin lurched forward to stop him, but his arms made contact with nothing. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the wall.

He spun back around, eyes wide and breaths harsh. The twins had came up as well, shocked. “Where the hell did he go?” Corva asked, bumping protectively closer to Caelin as her hand gripped the hilt of her dagger. Nirin yanked Caelin’s dagger from her belt and sliced it across his forearm.

They wanted to stop him but he ducked out of their way, dropping the dagger. He swiped two fingers into his blood and began frantically writing a sigil on the wall beside the other. Before it was finished a hand burst from the wall, grabbed the front of Nirin’s robes, and pulled him inside.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**||TW: body horror, gore||**

Kiol was inside an empty temple. It was one room but it was cavernous, bigger than any hall on the Society grounds. He turned around but there was only a wooden wall behind him. Hadn’t he just been in a dirt tunnel? He pressed his hands to the wall. Nothing happened.

Incense smoke wafted around the room so heavily it obscured his vision. The ceiling couldn’t be seen either because thousands of dried lavender, rosemary, and other floral herbs were hanging upside down from it. Huge red pillars were spaced evenly across the room, disappearing up into the sky of herbs. Despite how empty the place was, Kiol didn’t think it was abandoned. The red paint wasn’t old or chipped, the floor was clean, and while there were no windows or lamps, it wasn’t dark either.

He felt he had no choice but to walk around. As he walked he realized there was a corridor, similarly closed off from the outside with red walls. If ‘corridor’ was the correct term for it; it was nearly as big as the hall itself. Something itched at the back of his mind, like this place was familiar. But he knew he’d never been anywhere like this before. He examined the wood of the walls and floor, trying to see any runes or sigils or secret passageways. Was this even really a temple? There were no Creator statues, no candles, no charms, no disciples. Even though he could see and smell incense smoke, he didn’t actually see any sticks.

Incense.

He stopped walking. That was the familiarity; he’d smelled this before. The intense, numerous incense, the dozens of different herbs. It was the smell of whoever slipped the charm into his room. He reached into his vest and pulled it out, looking it over. When he put it back, he brought out his dagger in its placed. Unsheathed and in hand, he continued down the corridor. It still hadn’t ended.

He must have walked for minutes when he noticed. Someone was crying. Not just crying, sobbing. His pace quickened. He strode, then jogged, then ran. The stupid corridor had to have an end, didn’t it?

He finally burst into another chamber and skidded to a halt. It was smaller than the one he’d first been in and absent the columns. A woman knelt on the floor with her back to him, wearing dirty robes that were almost too big for her skeletal figure, slipping off one of her shaking shoulders. Her whole body trembled as she cried, hunched over her lap. Her hair was long and shiny, pooling onto the ground. He took a few steps closer.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?” Another step. The woman hadn’t even acknowledged him. He realized the shine in her hair wasn’t from light, but the result of being coated in blood. Her hair was thinned out unnaturally, and huge spots on her scalp were bloody and hairless. He froze to the spot.

It took a minute of steeling himself to say more. “Are you hurt?” he managed to ask. “I want to help.” He took a deep breath and walked in an arc so that he could see her from the side and not just her back. She was gripping something tightly in her lap. It was a lock of long, black hair. At the top, it was attached to a chunk of bloody scalp.

He had to stop again, drawing each breath harshly but feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. The woman looked up then and turned her face.

Kiol sat upright, gasping for breath. His hands scrambled numbly around himself, not fully comprehending where he was or what he felt. He was mostly focused on getting his breath back. When he had calmed down he realized he was sitting on a slab of stone. The room was made of stone too, but it wasn’t a cave, it had been cut and carved that way.

He swung his legs off the side and reached into his vest, pulling out the charm. He lifted his hand, ready to throw that horrid thing as far away from himself as possible. But he didn’t finish the movement. After a long minute of gritting his teeth, he lowered his arm again and squeezed the charm tightly in his palm. It didn’t smell like that overload of scents anymore, having long dissipated and been replaced with his own smell. He stuffed it back into his vest and stood.

On the surface of the slab was the same sigil he touched in the tunnel. Even though he’d just been sitting on it, he pressed his hand to it for good measure. Nothing happened.

There was one exit carved into the rock. Beyond it was more cave.

Kiol wandered this new tunnel, keeping an eye out for traps or sigils or other paths. But it was just one empty tunnel. He didn’t have much choice but to keep going forward. Eventually, he saw light. It vaguely framed a rounded archway, dim and distant. Kiol took out his dagger but didn’t pause as he walked through.

He knew instantly where he was.

Compared to the cramped tunnel, the sudden space was uncomfortably large. The cavern was about as large as the temple in his dream with an even higher ceiling. Most of its floor was taken up by black, depth-less water reflecting tiny orbs of lantern light that just made it look bigger and darker. The enormous remnant, coiled in on itself, stood in the center. And kneeling in front of it was the Archbishop.

Kiol walked across the stones to the remnant dais. Only when his feet were on the center platform did Hida open his eyes and look up.

“You’re awake,” he signed. “Now we can talk.”

“Are you the one who brought me here?” Kiol asked.

Hida stood slowly and brushed off his robes. “If you had listened to me we could have had this conversation long before now,” he signed. “We needed to have it away from Ruadhan.”

“Where are the others?” Kiol asked. “If you hurt them I’ll kill you.”

Hida chuckled and shook his head. “Set aside the ‘angry killer’ act for a moment, Kiol. I haven’t done anything to your friends.”

“And this?” Kiol threw the charm onto the ground between them. “Why are you forcing tainted charms on to me?”

Hida’s eyebrows pulled together and he stared at Kiol for a second, as though examining him. “What makes you think it’s tainted?” he asked. Kiol pressed his lips tighter together. When he didn’t reply Hida continued, “I gave it to you to protect you.”

Kiol snorted. “From what?”

“Ruadhan.”

His face fell at that. He watched Hida carefully but the man was looking back at him with all sincerity. “What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to explain this to you earlier but you stubbornly refused all my attempts. Ruadhan is going to kill you. After he uses you to murder me, and anyone else close to him. You saw the painting, didn’t you? Eleon knew Ruadhan would have him killed either way. He sacrificed himself willingly to get a message to you, so you could see for yourself. So you would know to be wary. Ruadhan isn’t who he says he is.”

“I know,” Kiol interrupted, then impatiently switched to sign-speak. “I know all this crap already. He’s been alive for some centuries, used to be a priest, whatever. Why would he kill me? Or you?”

“Because it’s what he does every generation. Kills anyone who knows or is close enough that they would question his unchanging appearance, lays low for a few years, then starts again and surrounds himself with a new assembly of loyal companions.”

“So what? You’re going to kill him first?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I must do, I’ll protect myself. And you.”

“Why?” If Ruadhan had assigned it, Kiol would have killed the Archbishop without remorse. That the man cared enough for him to do all this was ridiculous.

“Because you’re valuable, Kiol. God-gifted. Deadly. We could use you.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. A… coordinated counteroffensive against Ruadhan’s tyranny.”

Kiol’s exhale caught in his throat. He narrowed his eyes. “So you are a rebel. Was Domora working under your orders?”

“No,” Hida said quickly, his expression growing dark. “We worked together briefly but then she decided to go off on her own. And look where it got her. We have to stick together if we’re going to survive. If we want to succeed.”

“I’m not part of this,” Kiol said.

“You already are whether you like it or not. You don’t have to take orders from me, but sooner or later you’ll have to decide between your life or Ruadhan’s.” Hida picked up the charm and held it out. “Keep it, please. Stay safe.”

“That’s not going to keep me any safer,” Kiol signed, fed up.

“You saw for yourself the power runes have. One brought you here, didn’t it?”

“That was a sigil, not a seal,” Kiol said, too confidently for the fact that it was something he only vaguely knew from an off-comment Nirin made once.

“Sigils are made of runes, combined strategically. So they’re stronger, yes, but runes do have power themselves.” He pushed the charm closer. “Plus, if you have this and another rebel sees it, they’ll know you’re on their side.”

“I already told you I’m not,” Kiol said, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Whether you are or not doesn’t matter. It means they won’t bother you. They might even listen to you.”

Would those families have followed Kiol if he’d shown them the charm? He grabbed it from Hida, clenching his teeth. “You should have said something earlier.”

“I tried! You refused, remember? I couldn’t say all this in public or in front of Ruadhan, could I? But you know now. So be careful.”

Creator, Domora, Hida, Tori. So many against Ruadhan, yet how many had managed to touch a hair on his head? Even if they all worked together Kiol wondered if it would be possible. Even Creator, the one Kiol would have thought guaranteed to win against anyone, refused to take him down.

Kiol gestured to the remnant. “This isn’t Creator.”

Hida’s shadowed gaze turned up to the statue and fell to sorrow. “I know. One more reason Ruadhan needs to be stopped.”

So he knew that, too. But he had let Kiol sacrifice to Envier anyway. Why? So he could use Kiol for his stupid cause? Kiol scowled. It was one thing to be Ruadhan’s sword, but Kiol wasn’t going to put himself in service of any- and everyone just because they had some self-righteous justice to enact.

“And the tunnels?” he asked.

Hida raised his eyebrows. “What about them?”

“Where did they come from?”

“They’ve been here far longer than you or I.”

“Does Ruadhan know about them then?”

“Likely. But there are so many covering so many miles even he cannot keep track of it all.”

“And the—” Kiol hesitated. He could not call them ‘monsters,’ even if that’s what everyone else would see them as. “The creatures,” he finished.

Hida nodded sagely. “Creator’s first attempt at humans.”

“But she killed them,” Kiol said.

“Not all of them. She couldn’t. Creator loves all Her creations… even the failed ones.”

The image of Creator sitting on the floor surrounded by petals came to his mind. She hadn’t seemed to love those. “So you’re harboring them?” Kiol asked.

“Yes. Because it is what She wanted. For them to be alive.”

“Alive?” Kiol scoffed. “That’s not alive. Stuck in a pit with no light?”

“They’re too dangerous to be anywhere else.”

“Death would be better than that.”

“That’s not a decision for you or me to make.”

“It’s not a decision for a dead god either,” Kiol said. Hida bristled at that.

“She’s not dead, which you well know.”

“She’s not alive either,” Kiol lied. “And you’re her representative in the world. So make the decision.” Hida stared him down and didn’t reply. When it became obvious he wouldn’t get a response, Kiol brushed past him and started across the slippery rock path, up the stairs he’d descended all those years ago. He returned immediately to Hida's private worship hall. The statue was back in place and once inside the tunnel he saw the footsteps leading out. Only two sets. He followed their trail through the tunnel until he reached the sigil on the wall. There was another half-finished beside it, and splashes of blood on the ground.

He didn’t even bother closing the statue behind him. He sprinted through the temple and would have sprinted right out onto the grounds, guards be damned, when he saw the twins tucked into a corner of the hall. They appeared to be in heated discussion that they were trying very hard to keep under wraps before they spun in surprise at his arrival.

“You’re alive!” Caelin said, rushing forward. Kiol recoiled from her touch at the same moment she seemed to realize better and took her hands back.

“Where the fuck is Nirin?” he demanded.

“Keep your voice down!” Corva reprimanded.

Kiol glared and both the girls shrunk back. “Where is he?”

“We don’t know, he disappeared like you d—!” Caelin cut herself off at the last word and looked dubiously at her sister. “Well, kind of. A… a hand came out of the wall and pulled him in. That didn’t happen to you, did it?”

“Whose hand?” Kiol asked, his blood rising. Caelin looked at him with a lost expression. He growled and ran out. It was a mix of luck and subconscious knowledge that kept him from running into anyone. He vaulted back over the wall and sprinted full speed to the martial temple.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ruadhan’s prison room was empty, as was his office and bed chambers. Kiol finally stopped in the hallway, looking at the unconscious guard and trying to catch his breath as his mind raced. He didn’t have time to search everywhere in the city but he didn’t have time to figure out where they could possibly be either. Nirin could already be dead. There were the miles of tunnels, too. It would take weeks, maybe months, to go through it all.

He took out any guard or soldier who seemed even remotely interested in getting in his way. That was why he almost fought Caelin, too. All he registered was a person coming toward him. He backed off before Corva could even come to her aid, though she still pulled Caelin behind her.

“What are you doing, where are you going?” Caelin asked, clawing at her sister to make her move but Corva didn’t budge, glaring at Kiol.

Kiol just glanced at her and continued running. The twins followed. He made it easy for them, since he dealt with every challenge in front of him. He ignored them completely, not caring one way or another what they did, as long as they didn’t get in his way. They tailed him all the way to the cottage. Half a day’s journey, but better than half a year.

Creator looked up calmly when the trio burst through the door. She stopped tending the fire and stood.

“Ruadhan has Nirin,” Kiol gasped out the second she was in view, skidding to a halt and leaning on his knees.

“What?” She looked at the twins then back at Kiol. “How did this happen?”

“Si—sigils,” Kiol panted. “Just t—tell me where he is. I’ll deal with it.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Creator said gently, like she was trying to soothe a scared animal.

“Then what use are your fucking powers?!” Kiol spat.

Creator held up her palms. “Calm down,” she coaxed. “Does Ruadhan know I’m awake?”

“No? I don’t know! That doesn’t fucking matter right now!”

“If he doesn’t, he won’t kill Nirin. So calm down. I can think of a few places Ruadhan might have taken him but it’s no guarantee.”

“Just tell me!”

“Who are these two first?”

Kiol glanced back at Caelin and Corva looking utterly lost at their conversation. “They’re—” He hesitated. Well, Creator would know their intentions anyway. “They’re soldiers too. Nirin’s friends. Helping me.”

“Who are you?” Corva demanded.

Creator smiled. “The One True God.”

Kiol felt more than he saw the twins go still. They stared, flabbergasted. “What—what—what sacrilege is this?” Caelin managed to get out. “How dare you make such a claim!”

Creator sighed and opened her hand to show a little clay ball. Then she crushed her palms together and opened them to a jade pendant. She tossed it and Corva caught it on reflex. “Keep it,” Creator said.

“She’s telling the truth,” Kiol said, impatient. “But it doesn’t matter. I need to find Nirin.” He said the last sentence to Creator. But she didn’t even seem to be listening to him, her eyes trained on the twins. She looked a lot like Nirin, studying a subject with quiet intensity.

“Are y— are you really Her?” Caelin stammered. “You’re… You’ve come back? You’re back?” She looked between Creator and the pendant incessantly, as though piecing together a puzzle consisting of two pieces. Apparently no one was interested in listening to Kiol. He crossed his arms and glared uselessly at the group.

“I am,” Creator said. Even Kiol could tell Caelin wasn’t entirely convinced, let alone Corva’s look of contemptuous disbelief. Creator produced another ball of clay, this time making a strawberry. Red, plump, even glistening as though freshly plucked from dew. It was not something that could have been kept for a street trick. Creator stepped forward to hand it to Caelin. “Try it.”

“Don’t,” Corva barked.

“It’s not poisoned,” Creator said with a quirked smile. “But you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

Caelin eyed her sister, then bit off the end. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with a hand so Kiol couldn’t see what she said. She pushed the strawberry towards Corva who reluctantly took it and bit into it as well. But her suspicious expression didn’t change, and she examined the fruit with the jade pendant.

“It’s impossible,” she murmured.

“Why?” Caelin demanded. “Why is it impossible? You didn’t think She’d return? I knew She would, I knew She would one day.” She turned to Creator, eyes shining. The next second she was on the floor, head bowed over her knees. Creator took a step back and lifted the girl’s shoulders up.

“I don’t want to be worshipped,” she said gently. “And I need you to keep this knowledge to yourself for now. I’m not yet at my full strength and there are those who would see me dead.” Kiol was glad she didn’t mention Ruadhan. He didn’t know how the twins would react; they hadn’t taken even a slight implication of killing Ruadhan well.

“No, they’re gone,” Caelin insisted. “We’ve gotten rid of the Cult of Envy.”

Creator’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “Promise me you will not tell a soul.”

Caelin’s eyebrows pulled together and her face fell, but after a long moment she consented, “I promise.”

Creator looked to Corva, but that twin crossed her arms and stared back defiantly. “Get off the floor, Caelin. Whoever you are, do you know where Nirin is or not?”

“As I told Kiol, I don’t know for certain. I know a few places Ruadhan might have taken him, that’s all.”

“Then where are those places?”

Creator looked her up and down, her gaze shadowed from her thoughts. Then she turned to Kiol and signed, “I will transport you to the first location, after that you have to find them with my directions.” Kiol uncrossed his arms and nodded.

If Corva truly didn’t believe before, she must have after watching Creator bleed herself and heal dozens of times over, until she made a sigil with an amount of blood that would have killed any mortal person to lose. Kiol stepped in without hesitation.

Every encounter with a sigil he’d had so far had been some form of travel. But this felt nothing at all like the others. It was like a wave crashing into his body with the force of a brick wall, swallowing him whole, tossing him about, suffocating him. Yet it lasted only seconds before he found himself stumbling on solid ground. Head still spinning, he leaned against the wall and just barely managed not to upchuck his stomach’s contents.

Caelin was not so lucky. Kiol’s dizziness and nausea had abated by the time she appeared out of nowhere and fell to the ground, vomiting. Corva appeared shortly after. Kiol ignored them and focused on what he had originally thought was a building wall. But it wasn’t a building— at least, not in any form he recognized. It was a series of long wooden rooms, connected by pieces of metal, and set upon metal wheels which themselves rested on a metal path. Nature had overtaken much of it; vines and leaves and roots, climbing over the top or strangling the bottom. Creator had said it was a form of transportation that she had helped build, one that didn’t rely on human or animal power to move. When it had worked, it went between two locations, though she had wanted it to reach every pocket of civilization there was. Kiol assumed she had become a remnant before she could realize that dream.

Many of the rooms were left wide open. Kiol walked the length of them all, peering inside. Carpets of dead leaves and even some skeletal remains of dead animals were the only occupants. All six of the rooms were empty. But Creator had said there would be more if they followed the path to the south. Not bothering to check if the twins were with him, Kiol set off at a jog.

The others were much the same. Overgrown, half off the path, some fallen boards, some rotting wood. Kiol tried the door of one of the few that were intact and closed. Instead of sliding open it wobbled and crashed down onto the floor, the force of it sending leaves fluttering into the air. Kiol paused in turning away and stepped into the box instead, brushing aside more leaves.

On the floor was a faded illustration. It was drawn messily, but still obvious that the artist was not novice. A man with a short ponytail, his ears scribbled over, and a man with long hair whose lips were scribbled over. Beneath it someone had written:

_Lose twins. Kill Ruadhan. Serul lies. Trust her._

Kiol frantically pushed away more leaves but that was all that was written. Was it even meant for him? For this him, at this time? He piled the leaves back over it and climbed out to see Corva and Caelin approaching.

“Nothing here,” he told them. “Go back to the temple. I’ll continue by myself.”

“No way.” Caelin stepped forward, pointing determinedly. “He’s become my friend too, you know. I’m going to make sure he’s okay.”

“No need,” Kiol said. “You’re already in trouble. Go back now.”

“No,” Corva said this time. Kiol eyed her. He had expected her, if nothing else, to want to drag Caelin back. “Caelin’s right. It’s partly our fault, so we’ll help.”

“You’re not helping,” Kiol said. They stood, stubborn and immobile. He sighed into his teeth and started into the forest. If he ran at his fastest he could certainly lose Caelin, but not Corva, which meant he wouldn’t lose either. There was really only one solution.

Creator had said if they went north they would eventually hit the capital. And northeast of there was a dungeon caved in from the Thousand Night battle with an entrance hidden by a fallen pillar. Kiol followed the metal path northward at a sustainable pace, hoping that Creator had been right. If she wasn’t and Ruadhan would kill Nirin, it was likely already too late. But passing out from over-exerting himself wouldn’t help anything.

The path disappeared and Kiol used the setting sun as a compass. Almost a full day had passed. And what if it wasn’t Ruadhan who had taken Nirin? If Kiol was following a trail that led to nowhere? If he was simply wasting time…

He was getting close to the city, passing ruins he recognized. Outside the first farm field he stopped and turned to the twins still behind him. Even Corva looked worn down. “Just tell them I forced you to do it all,” he said. Caelin’s eyebrows pulled together but Corva didn’t take long at all to recognize Kiol’s intent. By the time she had raised her arms Kiol had already grabbed the back of her head and slammed it into the nearest tree. He lurched over her slumping body to grab Caelin. She put up a bit of a resistance, but of course she was no match for Kiol. He laid them upright against the tree and continued on his own.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**||TW: torture, manipulation, involuntary restraint, gore||**

Nirin’s wrists hurt. Whatever his back was against was so cold it cut through his tunic and chilled him to his core. But he couldn’t move, his arms were stuck above his head and his knees on the ground. He opened his eyes. The only light was a flickering candle on a table. Waiting until his eyes adjusted, he first looked around to see if anyone else was there, but the room was empty. He couldn’t feel any presence either. He looked up at the handcuffs trapping him. It was a familiar sensation, cold metal chafing his skin, the hard edge digging into his wrist. But the end of the chains weren’t attached to the wall. They extended up, through metal loops in the stone that forced Nirin’s arms to stay pressed back against the wall. The chain’s ringed ends, high above his head, were held in place with hooks; no matter how Nirin shifted or pulled, which he couldn’t do much in the first place with the metal loops holding the chains down, they wouldn’t come off. Not that he bothered struggling much at all.

He wasn’t there long when a door on the side wall opened and a figure stepped inside. They were calm, at ease, even their steps unhurried as they walked to the table. But anger and hatred radiated off them like heat from a fire.

“I’ll make this easy for you,” Ruadhan said. He used the candle to light a lamp and the room illuminated. Patches of moss covered the dreary stone walls and floor. The wooden table looked to be in its last days of life, but it held up the instruments on its surface. From his position on the ground Nirin couldn’t see what they were. Ruadhan passed his hand over them, contemplating, before he lifted a simple knife.

“You know I can’t kill you.” He brought the knife and a porcelain bowl, kneeling in front of Nirin. “You know I won’t kill you.” Nirin met his eyes, staring into the depths of contempt that was there. He didn’t flinch when Ruadhan cut a line across his arm and raised the bowl to catch the blood that poured out. “And I know you can withstand quite a lot of pain. I will turn to torture, though, if it becomes necessary. Keep that in mind.” Ruadhan tapped the tip of the knife just below Nirin’s right eye. “It would be a pity to mutilate this nice face of yours.”

He took the filled bowl back to the table and set it aside, wiping the knife clean. “Tell me where the remnant is.” Ruadhan came back over, hands empty, and crouched again in front of Nirin, resting his arms on his knees. “Tell me her location and if she’s truly there, I won’t kill Kiol.”

Nirin’s eyes widened and his mouth dried in an instant. Ruadhan was not lying. He would murder Kiol. Even with all the affection he held for the boy. Nirin didn’t understand it—couldn’t understand it. How a person could so willingly and so brutally hurt someone they loved.

“Yes, you know I will.” Ruadhan smiled, and it was slightly rueful but mostly it was terrifyingly cold. And Nirin caught a glimpse of something else. He concentrated harder, digging deeper into Ruadhan’s psyche, but the man noticed. His eyebrows twitched, and his emotions were overridden again with loathing. “Don’t study me,” he said. “You won’t like what you find.” Nirin hadn’t been expecting to like it. But the opportunity was dashed.

Ruadhan stood and Nirin’s hands were crushed between the handcuffs and metal loops as Ruadhan unhooked the chains. Then the tension loosened and his arms dropped down, but it was no relief. His shoulder muscles had been stuck in that position too long. The stiffness ached. Nirin rolled his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, eyeing Ruadhan as the man crouched again.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned. “Tell me the location.”

“I don’t know it,” Nirin signed.

Ruadhan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want Kiol to die?”

“Do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Your actions matter now. You’re the one who can save him. Or are you sick of saving people, Nirin?” The way he said his name, so sickly sweet, so derisively cynical, sent shivers down Nirin’s spine. He looked away but still felt Ruadhan’s smile, the same unfeeling one. “I did my own studying,” the man continued. “I know a lot about you. More than you could ever know yourself.” Nirin looked back to him at that but the smile didn’t fade and Nirin could feel nothing but hate. “You can try, but you won’t read me.”

Even Serul couldn’t hide her intentions from Nirin. He furrowed his brows and signed, “How?”

“Oh,” Ruadhan sighed, standing again. “Centuries of practice. And knowing you better than you know me.”

“What do you know?”

Ruadhan went back to the table and looked over the instruments there. Debating on whether to resort to torture, thinking about the options he had if he decided to. “I know you care too much. It’s a weakness you’ve always had. But one you won’t get rid of. You refuse to even try.”

“You’re wrong,” Nirin signed. Ruadhan glanced at him.

“I’m not,” he said. “You just think I am because you don’t know. As I said, I know you better than yourself.”

“Why do you want to awaken Envier?”

Ruadhan actually gave a huff of laugh at that. He dipped a finger in the bowl of Nirin’s blood and began painting on a cloth, not responding.

“Do you know why my blood is so potent?” Nirin asked instead.

Ruadhan thought about it, though he didn’t pause in his writing. He decided on an answer before deciding to respond. “Because you’re god-gifted.”

“It was like that before my sacrifice.”

“I know.” A flare of impatience. He’d told Nirin multiple times now that he knew. But his face didn’t change. “That’s the lie they’re all living. That one can better themselves, that through study and training and cultivating you can become worthy. It’s all a lie. The truth is, it’s already decided at birth. Either you’re born worthy or you’re not.” He looked pointedly at Nirin. “Aren’t you lucky.”

Nirin returned his gaze with flat amusement. The man lifted the cloth and brought it over, dangling it before Nirin. Even sideways, he recognized the sigil.

“Will you tell me? Or will you make me do this? I hate this, you know.” Nirin did know. He stared up at Ruadhan blankly. Ruadhan wrapped the cloth around Nirin’s eyes.

A weight crushed him to the ground. His limbs were held down and exposed and sliced and sliced and sliced. He struggled uselessly, the more he struggled the more he realized it was futile and the more panic welled up inside him. It bubbled out of his mouth but it didn’t matter how loud he screamed, no one would listen. No one would help.

The weight vanished and he was sitting against cold stone, panting. A sigil to live through your worst memories. As though Nirin didn’t already do that every night. Ruadhan was in front of him again, holding the cloth and contemplating.

“Do you know how Kiol will die?” Ruadhan asked. Nirin glared at him. “First, I’ll slice off his skin. Slowly, of course, in small pieces. Then I’ll pull out his teeth, one by one. I’ll split his tongue in two, right down to his throat.” Ruadhan’s heart was racing now, almost in time with Nirin’s. Ruadhan was disgusted, horrified. And he was telling the truth. “I’ll peel off his eyelids—”

The chains rattled as Nirin lashed out and Ruadhan stepped away, but Nirin didn’t follow through on the hit. “Stop,” he signed, standing up on his knees and glowering at the man.

Ruadhan crouched again so they were almost eye-level. “I told you. You care too much. You have no reason to care about Kiol and if you stay with him, he’ll ruin your life.”

“So I should let you kill him?”

“So you should tell me where the remnant is.”

“I don’t know.”

Nirin shifted his head out of the way as Ruadhan slammed his palm where his face had just been. Then the man’s fingers tucked into Nirin’s hair. He tried to move away but his motion was limited, so he glared instead as Ruadhan brushed a gentle thumb along Nirin’s jawline. Sorrow. Hatred. Love. Nirin couldn’t understand his emotions and he closed his eyes but of course it did nothing to abate the feeling. “I know you know,” Ruadhan whispered. “Tell me. Please.” Nirin kept his eyes closed and his face turned away. Ruadhan stood and re-hooked the chains, then his presence retreated. Only then did Nirin open his eyes and breathe in. Without his hovering body the air seemed fresher, though it was still choked with the smell of dampness and mold.

“Well then,” Ruadhan said, his voice back to sharp disinterest. “I’ll be back.” He shut the door tightly as he left and Nirin heard the click of a lock.

After another few seconds of sitting there, he tested the chains again. He could go up on his knees, which bent his elbows and alleviated the strain on his shoulders, but he couldn’t stand without breaking his wrists. Holding himself away from the wall was an effort as well, but being so close against it was like sitting against ice. The air was cold enough to make him shiver as it was.

He studied the cuffs and chains and surroundings, but there was no solution. Limited movement, limited resources, and thick iron did not give many options for escape.

He changed between sitting and kneeling and kept track of time as best he could. He was sure Kiol would be looking for him. He didn’t know whether he wanted the boy to find him or not. It was hard to discern the level of danger he’d face here. Nirin estimated about six hours before the door opened. Ruadhan returned with another porcelain bowl, and bled him again. He didn’t speak and Nirin wouldn’t have signed even if he’d been able to. With Nirin’s blood, Ruadhan painted another sigil on another cloth. This one Nirin couldn’t see when he brought it over.

“I don’t know if this will work,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me after.” And he tied it around Nirin’s eyes.

Kiol lay alone in a dark room, naked, shivering, and twitching in pain. Patches of his flesh were shorn off. One of his eyes was punctured and his hair was sticky with its blood and fluids. Nothing Nirin did could stop it; he could see it clear as day even with his eyes closed, and he could feel it.

The scene vanished, replaced with dark stone and Ruadhan’s face. “Good, it worked,” he said, though without an ounce of satisfaction. “What do you think?”

Nirin swallowed his nausea and struggled against the handcuffs.

“Will you tell me now?” Ruadhan asked. “Or must I hurt Kiol some more? Next time I will make you watch. The noises are horrific.” Nirin bit his lips together and closed his eyes. Ruadhan unhooked the chains and Nirin hugged his legs to his chest, shivering. “Well?” Ruadhan asked.

“Near the village of River Pastures,” Nirin signed. “Beyond the Cut River, in a dried up well. It must be dug out.”

Ruadhan rubbed his chin. “We’ll see,” he finally said, and Nirin’s arms were yanked up once again as he hooked the chains and left.

Nirin gave up counting after the tenth hour. Somehow he even managed to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position. He woke to the sound of slamming. After coming to it still took him a few seconds to recognize that it was someone outside the door. He sat up on his knees, ignoring the strain of his shoulders, and watched as the door vibrated again with a loud thud. After the fourth one it crashed open and Kiol stumbled inside.

Nirin perked up even more. The boy was frantic and disheveled, but upon seeing Nirin every ringing nerve of panic in Kiol fell to dizzy relief and he rushed forward.

“You’re alive, you’re alive,” he panted, as though he couldn’t believe it. Warm, strong hands brushed down Nirin’s arms and legs. “But he hurt you.” Kiol grabbed his arm above the cuts, fury replacing relief and gritting his jaw to painful tension, a marked contrast to the tender way he held Nirin’s arm. Nirin shook his head and gestured with his chin. Kiol’s gaze followed up the chains and he stood and unhooked them.

“He may be back soon,” Nirin signed. “And he’ll be angry. If he used an instant transportation sigil…”

“What? Ruadhan?” Kiol asked, baffled. Nirin nodded, but he didn’t have time to explain.

“Is there a way to break the chains?” he asked. Kiol inspected one, but from the sinking disappointment Nirin already knew the answer. “No mind,” he signed, reaching up and taking Kiol’s hand from the chain. He never could tell if the small thrill from connecting their palms was him or Kiol. He tugged him back down. “You need to go. Ruadhan will hurt you— he’ll kill you. Go somewhere far away.”

“I don’t care!” Kiol hissed, pulling his hand from Nirin’s and standing. He began looking through the stuff on the table, under the table, around the room. Looking for keys.

“There are no keys,” Nirin signed, several times until Kiol looked at him and read it. “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Kiol said stubbornly. “He’ll kill me? I don’t give a shit. He gave me his word that he wouldn’t touch you. I’ll kill him for hurting you.”

Nirin paused, his heart suddenly pounding like crazy. It took him a second to get his bearings back. “Go, please go,” he pleaded. But Kiol wasn’t looking again. He grabbed a long metal rod from the table. Nirin sighed silently and moved aside before Kiol asked him to. The boy stuck the rod through one of the metal loops in the wall, braced his foot against the stone, and heaved.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Nirin cautioned. Kiol clenched his jaw, tucked his shoulder under the rod, and used his entire body to push up on it. After several minutes of this the metal loop actually came loose from the stone, and with one more push it clanged to the floor. Then Kiol did the same with the other. He threw the rod onto the ground and the sound of metal on stone echoed throughout the room.

“Is it bad?” Kiol asked, taking one of Nirin’s arms and moving the handcuff aside to see the chafed skin on his wrists. Nirin pushed him away only to reach up and take Kiol’s face in his palms. The boy met his gaze, shocked, breath hitched, face instantly growing hot. In the dim candlelight Nirin could almost see Kiol’s stormy gray eyes and adorable splash of freckles across his nose.

“Thank you,” Nirin mouthed. Kiol’s eyes widened and for a second he wondered if Nirin wasn’t mute. But Nirin had already taken up the ends of the chains and pulled Kiol from the room.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kiol had been exhausted many times in his life. Nothing compared to the exhaustion now. He hadn’t slept or eaten in almost forty-eight hours, had been moving, if not running, most of that time, and the emotional fatigue from the stress and panic wore him to the bones. Nirin lay a gentle palm on Kiol’s arm but Kiol shook him off.

“We can’t stop,” he said, knowing what Nirin would suggest. “We can’t get caught.”

“You’re going to drop unconscious,” Nirin signed, clumsily around the iron rings at the end of the chains he was holding. “At least find something to eat.”

“No. I’ll be fine. Are you tired?” Kiol finally did stop, looking at him. “I can carry you.”

“No you can’t,” Nirin signed, matter-of-fact.

Kiol frowned at him and kept walking.

It was morning again by the time they made it to the cottage. In the dew and dawn light it looked too picturesque, as though Kiol had really dropped unconscious and was dreaming. He glanced at Nirin walking by his side. His posture straight as usual and the hair he’d taken down hung around his shoulders with slight curls from the braids. He looked equally perfect and dream-like, eyes forward and steps steady. But Kiol saw the tired droop to his eyes.

Kiol walked right in to the cottage. The fire was out and aside from the hazy morning sunshine, the place was dark. Creator wasn’t in the kitchen either. “Where the hell did she go?” he growled.

“No matter,” Nirin signed, settling down in front of the fireplace. “She’ll be back soon. Let’s sleep.”

“It’s not safe,” Kiol signed back. “We need to find Creator and go somewhere else. Farther away. More protected.”

“It’s safe,” Nirin signed, already laying down and closing his eyes. “Please trust me.”

The sight of Nirin curled up on the rug, looking soft and fragile, tugged viciously at Kiol’s heart. He cleared his throat and knocked on his chest to dislodge the feeling, and sat down on the side of the rug.

“Fine,” he said. He was determined to stay awake and keep watch. He only realized he had failed when he was waking up.

He sat up in a hurry. A fire had been started and it warmed the room. A room that was empty save for Kiol. He jumped up and spun around only to see Nirin coming in from the kitchen. The boy had changed from tunic and pants back to his usual softly colored robes. He smiled when their eyes met and Kiol looked away.

Something was pushed into his hands. He looked down at the bowl of soup but his attention turned immediately to something else. “They’re gone,” he said, taking Nirin’s wrist. He was free from the chains.

The boy gently took his wrist back. “Creator took them off,” he signed.

“I thought she created, not destroyed,” Kiol replied flatly.

“She created the key,” he signed back, his lips quirking up. “You better eat.”

“Ah, right,” Kiol sighed. He sat down and ate the vegetable soup in mere minutes. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, but it would have certainly been better with meat. He looked to Nirin and was surprised when he signed an explanation without him needing to say anything. Before remembering, of course, that that was what Nirin did.

“My parents never fed me meat. When Serul first gave me meat I became very sick. So I have never eaten any after that.”

“Your parents?” Kiol wondered. So he did have parents. Well, naturally, he had parents, but it was weird to think about. “Were they cultists?”

Nirin bit his lip, eyes downcast. Even Kiol could tell he’d made him uneasy. But Nirin replied before he could fix it. “You could say that,” he signed. He looked back up with a bright smile. “Creator wants to talk to you.” He pulled the bowl from Kiol and left it on the floor, then led him to the garden outside.

Judging by what Kiol could see of the sun hidden behind clouds, it was mid-day. Creator was kneeling in the dirt, digging up vegetables and tucking them into a basket. Kiol stopped by the edge of the plot and watched her work for a second before saying, “Just create them.”

Creator looked up with a smile. “I am, aren’t I? There is more than one way to create something. And I like gardening. It takes a product and makes it about the process. Isn’t that beautiful?” Kiol shrugged. Creator laughed and stood, brushing dirt from her hands. “I am glad you found Nirin.”

“Ruadhan will look for him. And me. We have to leave.”

“We’re safe here.”

Kiol pressed his lips together. “We’re not! We’re close to the city, and now the twins know of it. I… I didn’t exactly leave them on good terms. And they’re loyal to Ruadhan.”

Creator sighed and nodded. “Well, the twins are a problem, but there is very little probability that they will lead anyone here.”

“Whether they do or not, we may still be found.”

“No,” Creator soothed. “This location is protected. It cannot be found unless someone who knows of it willingly leads them here.”

“Well it’s not working! _I_ found this place, remember?” Creator fell into awkward silence at that, her gaze drifting to Nirin. Kiol looked too, and Nirin didn’t meet his eyes for once. “Did you…?” Kiol trailed off, thinking back to all of it. Of course. Of course Nirin had known he was following, had led him here on purpose. With his gifts, how could he not have known? “I still think we should go,” he muttered. “To be sure.”

“We can’t leave yet,” Creator said. She picked up the basket. “And you stink. I’ll heat up some water for you to wash and make you some new clothes.”

“Wait,” Kiol stopped her from turning away before returning to sign-speak. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Oh. Yes.” She rested the basket of vegetables on her hip and sighed. “You need to return to the soldier sect.”

“What.” Kiol’s flat voice didn’t betray the jolt of confused anger such words gave him.

“If you do not, worse things will happen.”

“After all this I cannot imagine Ruadhan would allow me back in.”

“He would. He will.”

Movement turned Kiol’s head to where Nirin stood slightly behind him. He only caught the end of his signing. “—go back.”

Creator blinked sadly at the boy, as though seeing something pitiful about him for the first time. “I am sorry, Nirin. But he must. You know the truth of my words.”

“I don’t care about truth,” Nirin signed. “He’ll be in danger if he returns. He stays here.”

“Feel the weight behind my words,” Creator said. “Know I do not say them lightly. I know the paths the future may take. If Kiol does not go back to the sect, we will all suffer.”

“I am not afraid of suffering,” Nirin signed. He grabbed Kiol’s hand and pulled him back to the cottage.

“Is she lying?” Kiol asked when they were inside, thinking back to the message he’d found. Nirin shook his head. When he made no other comment, Kiol sighed and plopped down on the rug. “Then I’ll go back.”

Nirin spun to face him, looking the closest to angry Kiol had ever seen him. “No,” he signed. “Ruadhan will kill you.”

“So?” Kiol replied lazily. “If it keeps you safe, if it helps Creator—”

“Don’t you dare.”

Kiol blinked at him. He didn’t understand why Nirin was so indignant. Kiol could take on Ruadhan— he thought he had a chance, anyway. And after all, Ruadhan had broken his promise. Kiol did want him to pay for it. But despite his vitriol, Kiol had no idea if he had it in him to actually kill the man. Even if he couldn’t, Nirin shouldn’t have cared.

He met Nirin’s heated stare and for once managed to hold it. “Don’t you trust Creator? Don’t you want her to succeed?”

“Not if it means hurting you.”

“I’m just a pawn,” Kiol signed, annoyed. “I’ll die eventually anyway. Creator can change the world for good, for the better. I might as well be a sacrifice for a just cause and then one good thing will come from my life.” He stopped when he’d realized how much he’d signed and the storm of emotions it stirred in him. He swallowed them down. Nirin was looking at him with those eyes that saw too much.

He sat in front of Kiol, their knees touching. “You don’t know, do you?”

Kiol crossed his arms and looked away. “Know what?”

Nirin reached out and pried apart Kiol’s arms, drawing his eyes back to the front. He cupped Kiol’s hands in his own and squeezed them tenderly. Kiol pulled back and crossed his arms again, this time tucking his hands under his armpits. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked, annoyance covering the sudden pace of his heart.

“You do not have to make the world better in order to be good. That’s a heavy responsibility for anyone. You _are_ good, just being you.”

Heat flashed across Kiol’s vision and tinged his ears. He gulped down the rising shock and discomfort. “Geez, you’re fucking weird,” he muttered, staring hard at his lap so he didn’t have to see Nirin’s earnest face.

“You don’t have to believe me for it to be the truth,” Nirin signed. “You asked to stay by my side, and you promised to protect yourself. So stay.”

“And then what? We just die together?”

“That’s not what Creator said.”

“More or less it is.”

“No.”

Kiol glared at him. Nirin looked back just as stubbornly. Creator stepped inside with two buckets.

“Stop bickering,” she said. “Someone put the pot over the fire.”

While the water heated, Kiol watched with feigned disinterest as Creator wove garments from nothing. He should have put two and two together before, but he finally realized how Nirin had such elegant robes. It took her longer to make clothing than it had the other things. She explained that each thread was essentially its own creation, and as she made them she had to weave them simultaneously. Still, Kiol thought it was easier than spinning, weaving, measuring, cutting, and sewing.

After washing and changing into clean clothes, Kiol wandered back outside where the others were finishing gardening. He took the basket full of vegetables from Nirin’s arms and brought it inside for him.

He wasn’t exactly a good cook— in fact he’d never cooked anything in his life. But he helped cut up the vegetables and did whatever else Nirin told him to. They were drying, pickling, and preserving some of them for the winter, and making dinner for that night. Kiol was already starving; he didn’t know if he could get used to not eating meat.

“Have you decided?” Creator signed over her bowl as they ate.

“He’s not going,” Nirin signed before Kiol could reply. Kiol shot him a look that was ignored.

Creator looked between them, then quietly went back to the soup without word or expression. Nirin stared at her a few more seconds in study before also continuing to eat. Knowing the two were well aware not only of his emotions but each other’s made Kiol feel extremely out of place, like he was missing an important part of the conversation. Not that that was anything new to him.

“What will happen if I don’t go back?” Kiol signed.

Creator glanced up without moving her head, then lowered her gaze again and seemed to think for a long time. Finally she signed, “I can’t tell you.”

Kiol scoffed. “Why not?”

“For one, it wouldn’t quite make sense to you. Two, as I’ve said before, there is no one answer to easily give. And three, telling you the possible results would very likely lead to disaster anyway.”

“But so would not returning, you said.”

“Yes. So I wish you would trust me and go.”

Kiol slanted his gaze to Nirin. The boy stared intently into his soup, not eating.

“I understand,” Creator signed. “I am not forcing you one way or the other. If you change your mind, do let me know. I’ll prepare some things for you.”

Kiol nudged Nirin. Before he even began to move the boy glanced his way, but he did it anyways, bumping the side of his hand against Nirin’s arm. “Did Ruadhan say why he wanted you dead?”

Nirin sighed. “No. He just wanted to know the location of Creator’s remnant.”

Kiol glanced at Creator, whose face had quickly become guarded. “But there is no remnant now.”

“Exactly,” Nirin signed. “What could I tell him? I gave him the location it was at before.”

“If you told him Creator had woken maybe he would have…” Kiol’s words died on his tongue when he remembered what Creator had said. _If Ruadhan doesn’t know I’m awake, he won’t kill Nirin._ Did that mean if he _did_ know, he would kill Nirin?

“Yes,” Creator answered the question even though Kiol hadn’t spoken it. “He would have killed Nirin without a second thought.” He glanced at her, surprised and annoyed. For supposedly being unable to read minds, both her and Nirin seemed eerily capable of doing so.

“Why?” Kiol asked.

“Because he would no longer need to find out where the remnant is. He’d have no use for Nirin.”

“Why does he hate Nirin?”

Creator blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“He despises him. Nirin said so, but even without your weird abilities it’s obvious. But he barely knows him.”

“I suppose he knows enough about him,” Creator said grimly.

“But Ruadhan doesn’t hate anyone— Ruadhan doesn’t feel anything towards anyone, no matter what he knows about them.”

Creator actually laughed at that. She shook her head, then just buried her face in her hand. She stayed like that for some seconds, then took a deep breath and sat back up. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Ruadhan hates many. Especially me. And he feels more intensely than I think you could fathom. Being skilled at keeping a straight face does not mean one is emotionless. Surely you of all people know that well.”

Kiol stared back at her and she raised her eyebrows in a very clear, ‘you are proving my point.’ He pressed his lips together and looked away. He didn’t know if it was something about Nirin, or knowing that he could see Kiol’s emotions regardless, but since meeting him Kiol had found it harder and harder to keep his expressions in check. He didn’t want to be reminded of it.

Nirin stood and began gathering the dishes. Without a word Kiol and Creator stood as well. After cleaning it was already night. Despite only being awake six or so hours, Kiol had gotten less sleep than that, so he happily took a cushion and passed out in front of the fire.

.

Someone was above him. Kiol flung himself up and drew out his knife in one swift motion. But there was no killing intent and he saw it was only Nirin hovering over him. He hurriedly put the dagger away. Nirin had not flinched.

“We must go,” he signed.

“Huh?” Kiol muttered, exhaustion hitting him after the rush of adrenaline. He rubbed his hair and squinted at the boy.

“We must go now,” Nirin signed. “Take what you want and follow me. But pack lightly.” Kiol continued squinting at him. Nirin sighed silently. “Do you trust me?”

_Of course._

Kiol didn’t have to sign it. And Nirin needed no other confirmation. He picked up Kiol’s vest, handing it over to him. Kiol shrugged into it and looked around for his other things. It seemed the cottage was once again devoid of Creator. He double checked that he had all his items before following Nirin out into the night.


	31. Chapter Thirty

Nirin walked deeper into the forest, away from the cottage, away from the city. Kiol followed without question. They did not talk. The trees grew sparse until they were replaced with grasslands, their autumn-yellow stalks cast with silver tones from the moonlight. Kiol craned his neck to look at the waning moon, still nearly full. A scattering of stars could be seen through the drifting clouds. There were so many of them that the night sky beyond did not seem dark at all. Only full of more stars.

He bumped into something and jerked back. He hadn’t noticed that Nirin had stopped walking to look up at the sky too.

“I used to stargaze with my mother,” Kiol reminisced. He didn’t know the last time he had actually stopped to look at them. “Even in the city where lights made them harder to see. She told me the names of constellations but I think she was just making them up.” He felt the corner of his lips lift and he forced it back down.

“I didn’t see the stars for a long time,” Nirin signed.

“Why not?”

Nirin glanced at him. “We should continue. We’ll get too cold standing still.”

Silence accompanied them another few minutes before Kiol remembered. “Oh— Nirin.” The boy looked over his shoulder in acknowledgment. Kiol continued in sign-speak, “I found a message. From— from the blind god-gifted, I think. In a… place Creator sent me to, like a wagon caravan that wasn’t pulled by horses or anything at all.”

“What did the message say?” Nirin signed.

“There were crude drawings of… us? I think. It said to kill Ruadhan. And that Serul lies, but to trust her.”

Nirin stopped walking. Kiol slowed until he was beside him and watched the conflict that scrunched the boy’s face. “It named her?” Nirin signed after a minute. “It named Serul?”

Kiol nodded. “’Lose twins. Kill Ruadhan. Serul lies. Trust her.’ That’s what it said. Why?” Nirin didn’t respond, his head tilted in thought and his brows still furrowed. “It might have been for you, maybe you were supposed to find it years ago,” Kiol suggested.

Nirin shook his head. “Why would it mention the twins? And I had no way to kill Ruadhan or even come close to it.”

“Ah,” Kiol mumbled. “Right. Then what’s wrong?”

“Nevermind,” Nirin signed. “We still have far to go.”

“Where are we going?”

Nirin paused again before he’d even begun walking. He signed with some difficulty, as though not quite believing it himself, “The remnant.”

“Remnant?” Kiol repeated, surprised. “Envier’s remnant?”

Nirin shook his head. “Creator’s.”

“Creator’s—” Kiol burst out, even more surprised, but he cut himself short. “What are you talking about?” he signed furiously. “Creator is awake, isn’t the remnant gone?”

“I don’t think so. It may be why her power is weakened, because the remnant still exists.”

“You told Ruadhan where it is,” Kiol reminded him. “We can’t go there.”

“No, I told him where it _was_,” Nirin emphasized. “Tori had it moved after you…”

Kiol would rather not bring that up again. “Moved where?” he redirected the subject.

“I don’t know,” Nirin signed. “But I have a guess.”

“Is it safe?” Kiol asked.

“Depends on what’s there these days.”

The meadows changed to roads. They wandered through farms and villages and farms again. Halfway through the day, when Kiol’s hunger was becoming unbearable again and he’d realized he hadn’t thought to pack any food, Nirin pulled a steamed bun from his pocket.

“It’s still warm,” Kiol said, the heat emanating from it made more obvious in the cold air.

“I bought it from a vendor in the last village.”

“What? When?”

“I took it and left money. You can eat it. It likely has meat.” Kiol could smell it and it definitely had meat in it.

“If it has meat then why did you take it?” he asked, plucking it from Nirin’s hand and taking a bite. It was possibly the best thing he’d ever eaten.

“For you,” Nirin signed nonchalantly.

“You need to eat, too, kid,” Kiol said, annoyed.

“I’ll find something.”

Kiol frowned. He grabbed Nirin’s arm and dragged him back the way they’d walked, finishing the bun on the way. When he spotted the farmhouse they had recently passed he strode up to the door and knocked on it.

The woman who answered saw Kiol’s vest and was immediately on guard, closing the door to a slant. “What do you want?” Even though Creator had made Kiol civilian clothes, the vest was a dead giveaway of his occupation. Former occupation, he supposed.

“Can you spare some food, ma’am?” he asked. Even trying to be polite he sounded rather bored and fed up. “Just a fruit, maybe, or some corn?” Nirin stood beside him, hands clasped, prim and proper. The lady looked them both up and down.

“One minute.” She closed the door. When she returned she held out an ear of roasted corn and half a roasted potato with a smear of butter on it. Kiol looked at Nirin, who nodded approval, so Kiol accepted the items.

“Thank you,” he said. She had relaxed a bit, seeing that he wasn’t barging in or trying to arrest anyone, and she gave him a smile and nod in return.

“Be careful, won’t you? It’s too cold these days to travel, and without food? You’ve got another twenty miles either way to a village.”

Kiol blinked at her, then turned and left.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nirin signed. Kiol held out the ear of corn with precarious looseness and Nirin took it with a small smile. “Thank you.”

.

They sat close to the small fire Kiol had made and Nirin fed it another piece of wood. The silhouettes of bare branches framed the cloudy sky. Kiol gave up trying to see stars and turned to Nirin. “Won’t Creator know what we’re doing?” he asked.

“She might,” Nirin signed.

“Then will she follow us?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know what she’s lying about? If that message was about her, anyway, and not really Serul.”

“Not exactly. Most of what she says seems to be a lie but… also the truth.”

“That’s not possible,” Kiol said. Nirin smiled at him.

“You see the world as black and white. But it’s not so simple.” If anyone else had said the same thing, it would seem patronizing. But Kiol only nodded and felt that Nirin was not wrong about him. He supposed a god could be both wrong and right, lying and honest. Or maybe _because_ she was a god, Nirin’s gift didn’t work as well with her.

Kiol propped his arm on a bent knee and stared into the fire, watching the rim of stones around it to be sure it didn’t spread. He was glad he couldn’t hear the crackle of it. “I’m guessing you don’t know where she goes at night,” he said.

“She doesn’t usually leave the cottage,” Nirin signed with a frown. “That she has two days in a row is rather strange. But I did not ask her.”

“Why not?”

“She is a god. She can do what she wants.”

Well, fair enough.

“So Tori moved the statue, Creator can’t find it, she can’t get rid of it and regain all her powers,” Kiol signed. Nirin nodded. Kiol tucked his arms behind his head and fell back, using them as a pillow. “Maybe she’s been looking for it.”

“Maybe,” Nirin signed.

They started traveling again before the sun had come up. Kiol had only traveled this far once, as a young kid, to get to the capital city. He barely remembered it, and certainly the direction they went now was hardly a well-traveled path. But Nirin seemed as confident and at ease as usual.

The wild meadows turned to barren crop fields, large square plots that were only dusty soil. It was obvious nothing had been grown in them, not this past year, nor years before it. The village that the fields surrounded was not too small, it could almost be considered a town, and it was so far out from any city center Kiol wondered how on earth it subsisted. That was answered when they got closer and Kiol saw that the village was as abandoned as the fields. The run down wooden huts were surrounded with rotting buckets and refuse just left outside. Occasionally Kiol caught a glimpse of a dog or other critter slipping away into the shadows on their approach. They wandered through the empty streets to the temple in the middle of the town. It was one made before the Thousand Night Battle, but seemed to be untouched by the gods’ violence. It stood grand and tall and shimmering with its specks of gold.

“What happened here?” Kiol asked, side-stepping a half-eaten carcass of a rabbit. “Do you know?”

Nirin nodded, eyes forward. For a long while he didn’t reply. Kiol was about to ask when he raised his hands to sign. “This was an old, old settlement. The land was farmed for centuries, maybe longer. But the soil couldn’t keep up, and crops began to fail. Even then, the people here forced crops from the ground with charms and seals. When those stopped working, they were finally forced to desert the town or risk starvation.”

“It doesn’t appear to have been abandoned for too long,” Kiol noted. “When did they leave?”

“I don’t know. Sometime in the last seven or eight years.”

Kiol glanced inside a house whose door hung open on broken hinges. Some old furniture, wildlife feces, spider webs, even a bird nest was tucked above a cupboard. But no weeds were growing over anything, inside or out. They really must have killed the soil that even after seven years not even weeds would grow.

Nirin tested the temple doors. Like all ancient temples, they were made of thick dark oak and iron and, unlike the rest of the town, hardly looked abandoned. The iron could have used some shine, but other than that. Nirin pushed his weight into them but they didn’t budge. Kiol stepped up and Nirin stepped aside.

Unless it was barricaded from the inside, it was likely that the hinges were so rusty they weren’t working. With that in mind Kiol threw his weight into one of the doors a few sharp times before he felt it give a little. Another few shoves and it cracked open enough for him to slip inside, meaning it was definitely large enough for Nirin.

It was dark and damp inside. No animals had come in here. Only some mildew and fungus grew along cracks in the stone floor and up the walls. Kiol put an arm out to stop Nirin from walking in any further. “It’s too dark, you won’t be able to see,” he said. “I’ll look around.”

“It won’t be anywhere obvious,” Nirin signed. “It’s a large temple.”

“Well I’ll look closely. Stay here.”

Kiol walked through the halls, his heel occasionally skidding on slimy mold. There were windows, but they were high in the walls and boarded up. Some half-burned candles or incense were scattered around every so often, their metal and porcelain stands gone. Of course things of such value would be the first priority when leaving for good. The statue of Creator was less easily moved, and so it remained. Kiol examined it closely, but he really didn’t think it was the remnant. It was nowhere near the size of Envier’s remnant, and it was a typical pose, Creator sitting with her hands resting on her knees and her face peaceful. Not what Kiol would expect someone to look like in the midst of endless battle. He checked around for any secret passageways but found none of that either.

When he finally made his way back to the front of the temple, night had fallen again, and with it, frost. Nirin stood outside on the stone steps, watching the village, his breath pluming into the air. Under the white moonlight, the frosted ground and houses shimmered like crystals.

“S’cold,” Kiol muttered. Nirin was rubbing his arms and shivering. There wasn’t even anything to make fire with. “Let’s go inside at least.”

Nirin pried his gaze from the village with reluctance and followed Kiol back inside. Kiol didn’t want to close the door again, afraid he wouldn’t be able to open it. So instead they walked to the inner chamber. It wasn’t much warmer and the air was intolerably stale, but wind chill wouldn’t reach them.

Kiol sat on the moldy ground without care. “Here.” He reached up, hooking his arm around Nirin’s waist and pulling him onto his lap. Nirin fell into it, looking only mildly surprised. “It’ll be warmer like this,” Kiol explained. “And it’ll keep you from the cold floor.”

“Not you though,” Nirin signed.

“I’m fine.”

Nirin pressed his lips together. After a second of thought he took off his outer robe and draped it around Kiol. It was warmer than Kiol would have expected. After some hesitation, he gripped the edges and wrapped his arms around Nirin, enveloping them both into the makeshift blanket.

Nirin always looked so small, but on Kiol’s lap, in his arms, he didn’t feel too small. He tucked into the space with perfect fit. Kiol focused on his thoughts, desperately trying to control them and his heart so Nirin wouldn’t know how it pounded out of control. The boy shifted and rested his cheek against Kiol’s shoulder and Kiol’s concentration broke entirely. All he could do was try to breathe normally.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked gruffly.

Nirin nodded. Kiol tightened his arms anyway, squeezing Nirin to his chest. “I’ll look again tomorrow,” he said. “Even if it’s not here, I’ll make sure without a doubt.” Nirin nodded again. He did not bother trying to sign, though he knew Kiol could see it. Kiol assumed he must have been tired. “You can sleep,” Kiol murmured. “I’ll make sure we stay warm.” Another nod. Kiol stopped talking then. He had only Creator’s pensive face to look at, and he quickly grew bored of that. With nothing to see or do, his only option was to focus on the warmth in his arms and Nirin’s soft breath against his neck.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

Kiol didn’t know how much time had passed when Nirin stirred. He sat up, rubbing his face and squinting up at Kiol in the darkness. Kiol bit back a smile.

“I’m awake,” he said. He opened his arms and let Nirin climb out of his lap, leaving empty, cold air behind.

“I have to check something,” Nirin signed. “Stay here.”

“It’s too dark, you can’t go on your own,” Kiol protested, starting to stand. Nirin pressed his shoulder, gently pushing him back down.

“I’ll be okay,” Nirin signed. “I promise. Wait here.” Kiol watched him wander off, deeper into the temple. He gave a sharp exhale, but let him go. He’d checked over the temple thoroughly and there was nothing dangerous here. He leaned his head back against the wall and watched the slants of light peaking through the boarded window.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he wasn’t guarding against it either. A pressure on his arm woke him and he jerked upright, though this time with enough awareness not to strike out at Nirin.

“Did you find it?” Kiol asked.

Nirin shook his head. “Not the remnant. But I have something to show you.”

“Show me?” Kiol muttered, tousling his hair. He pulled the tie out and re-tied his hair into a ponytail, then stood and followed Nirin through the halls. It wasn’t pitch black, but it was dark enough that Kiol was impressed with Nirin’s navigation. He stopped inside a mostly empty room. From its size and location, Kiol had assumed the other day that it had been the head priest’s bedchamber. There were faded patterns on the walls, indistinguishable, but not so different from the layers of charms that priests hung on their walls in current days.

The large window on the far wall had been boarded up when Kiol last entered, but the boards were pried off now. He realized it wasn’t a window, but a doorway. On the other side were cells.

“A prison?” Kiol asked. “They had prisons in their temple?” Kiol wasn’t devoutly religious but it rubbed even him the wrong way. There was no place for suffering inside a place of worship. Well, aside from boredom. He stepped up to it but Nirin grabbed his arm before he could go inside.

“I need to borrow your dagger,” he signed. Kiol blinked at him. Nirin’s lips pressed into a line. “No matter what happens, I need you to trust me.” He stared into Kiol’s eyes, though he could not have seen them well. Kiol reached into his vest and took out his dagger. He placed it hesitantly into Nirin’s palm. “Thank you,” Nirin signed. “Ruadhan will be here soon.”

Kiol’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. Nirin paused, his eyebrows pulling together. “What are you talking about?” Kiol demanded.

“That charm… it tracks you. Ruadhan knows where we are.”

“What?” Kiol hissed. He reached into his vest and pulled out the charm that Hida had given him. “No. The Archbishop gave this to me. He’s a rebel, he’s working against Ruadhan. He wants to—”

“Whether he does or not, Ruadhan put a tracking seal on that charm.”

“What? How do you know?”

“The messages that have been helping us. It doesn’t matter now,” Nirin signed. “Go back to the front of the temple. When Ruadhan arrives, you must lead him here.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Kiol asked. “Give me the dagger. I’ll do it. You shouldn’t.”

“No. Trust me, Kiol, trust me. Please. I’ve been keeping some things from you, but after this, if… if I can get answers from Ruadhan, I’ll tell you what I know.”

Kiol’s heart sunk even further. For a second he couldn’t breathe. He reached out and gripped Nirin’s arms. “Tell me now.”

“No, not now. You have to go to the front hall.”

“Why should I trust you if you’ve been lying to me?” He saw the surprised hurt on Nirin’s face and had to swallow down his guilt. “Is that all my life is? Lies? Ruadhan, Creator, Hida… even you? Or is this all a lie, and you’ve been manipulating me this whole time?”

“No! I promise, I haven’t.”

“Then why do I feel this way?!”

“You felt it on your own!” Nirin signed furiously. “From the moment you saw me, didn’t you? I did nothing, I said nothing, but you felt it. We’re connected somehow. Maybe Serul was telling the truth, it's because we’re both god-gifted. I don’t know if it’s the truth! I don’t know what is true out of the things I’ve realized. I couldn’t tell you theories that would just prove false and ruin everything. I can’t— I truly can’t tell you now. It’s too much. Kiol—”

“You’re lying!” Kiol shoved him. Nirin stumbled back, bumping into the wall. He stared at Kiol, eyes wide. “You’re using me! I know who I am, Nirin! No one likes me, they don’t willingly spend time with me, they don’t go out of their way to keep me around! You wanted to get close to Ruadhan, this whole time you knew I was the one who could lead you there.”

“Stop, stop it, Kiol!” Kiol did stop, chest heaving, glaring at Nirin. The boy blinked sadly at him. “I’m sorry I’ve confused you— I’m sorry this has all confused you. You don’t know who or what to believe, I understand. Ruadhan means a lot to you, I know. I know you don’t want it all to be true. When Ruadhan captured me he threatened to kill you to get information from me, and he meant it. He would have done it. But I saw something else. Whether he killed you now or not, he will kill you eventually. He has to. And I won’t let that happen— I can’t.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know why! All I know is what I saw in him.”

“No, why do you care?” Kiol demanded. “Why do you care if I live or die?”

“Because you’re my friend!”

“We barely know each other!”

“I like you!”

“Impossible!”

“True God, Kiol!” Nirin stepped forward and Kiol stepped back. “Why do you think of yourself this way? Just because you don’t like yourself doesn’t mean others can’t like you! You’re genuine and honest and practical. Isn’t that enough to like you? You’re the first person in my life who didn’t expect anything from me. You don’t see me as a tool, or an opportunity, or a means to an end. Isn’t that enough to like you?!”

Kiol grit his teeth, fighting back anger and tears. He stared down Nirin, trying to see a crack in his heartfelt expression, trying to piece together everything that had happened in the past few weeks into a cohesive whole. Before he could finish, Nirin threw his entire body weight into Kiol, knocking him off balance and into the prison room.

His tail bone slammed into the floor and Nirin’s weight slammed on top of him. Even with the breath knocked out of his lungs, he flung Nirin off without a second of pause and jumped to his feet.

A movement in the first room drew his eye and froze him in place. Ruadhan stood there, framed by the doorway. He was watching them with cold, unfeeling eyes, but something about the tilt of his head screamed ‘murderous.’ Without a single thought Kiol switched his purpose, stepping in front of Nirin and blocking him from Ruadhan’s view.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Ruadhan looked down and picked some dust off his tunic, then took a few more steps into the room. Kiol mirrored him, stepping into the doorway to give him no access to Nirin at all. He reached into his vest but his hand grasped nothing. Right. Nirin had his dagger, and he didn’t have his sword.

“Answer me.”

“Why are you protecting him?” Ruadhan asked. “I’ve let you run around with him in hopes that you’d learn for yourself. But it seems you haven’t.”

Kiol waited for him to continue on his own but he didn’t. He only stared back at Kiol like stone. “Learn what?” Kiol prompted coldly.

“That he’s using you.” Kiol’s blood turned to ice. “That he’s ruining your life. He’ll leave you broken, with nothing, and no one. He’s turned you against me, hasn’t he?”

“You hurt him,” Kiol spat. “You gave me your word that you wouldn’t. Why should I trust a single fucking word from your mouth, then?”

“What haven’t I given you, Kiol? Your life, your skills, answers to any questions you ask. And you still don’t trust me?”

Something pressed into Kiol’s back. He stiffened, but it wasn’t sharp. Nirin wrote with his finger, “Need to get to other door.”

Kiol moved further into the room. “Who are you?”

Ruadhan shook his head. “Like you said. I’m Ruadhan, Temple General.”

“Fine, who were you?”

Ruadhan smiled. “Are you going to make a run for it? Or force me into a cell?” Of course Ruadhan would notice Kiol slowly inching around him. Kiol hadn’t thought otherwise and was prepared to defend, but Ruadhan made no move to stop them. “You don’t have to protect him, Kiol, or help him.”

“I don’t have to listen to you, either.”

Ruadhan shrugged with his hands. “I didn’t say you did.”

“What’s so evil about him, then?” Kiol asked.

“You’ve met Creator, haven’t you?” Kiol stopped walking. Ruadhan knew. “Or, the one who claims to be her.”

“She is Creator,” Kiol growled. “I saw with my own eyes.”

“No, she has Creator’s powers. But she’s not Creator. I know that, because I know Creator is dead.” Kiol’s eyes widened. “She’s been dead for centuries. And while I toil to keep the world together, people like Nirin are plotting to tear it apart.” After the last syllable was out of his mouth, without a beat between voice and action, Ruadhan lunged. Not at Kiol, but towards the doorway. Kiol jolted forward to stop him but Ruadhan needed only that split second of advantage.

Though Kiol had stopped halfway through the room, Nirin had continued to the entrance.

“Nirin!” Kiol shouted.

Nirin dodged out of Ruadhan’s attack and the man’s short sword sparked against the stone wall instead. Kiol was sure Ruadhan hadn’t landed a hit, but his nose still caught the metallic tang of blood. He dashed towards Nirin but Ruadhan was once again quicker, spinning and continuing his attack on the boy. Nirin narrowly avoided another hit, stumbling back. The two of them had to see through darkness, and Nirin should have had an advantage with his gift. But somehow Ruadhan seemed to have the advantage no matter how Nirin moved.

Kiol caught up and grabbed Ruadhan’s arm, yanking it back. Ruadhan started a maneuver to escape, Kiol tried to counter, and Ruadhan easily countered the counter. Ruadhan had taught Kiol everything he knew. Even in the dark he knew exactly what Kiol was doing.

Ruadhan shoved him off and Kiol changed tactics, deciding to grab Nirin and run. He turned around to see Nirin at the doorway again, sliding his finger across the wall. A streak of blood was left behind. A seal. Kiol realized for the first time that the markings on the walls weren’t runes, but seals. Nirin was completing one whose edge had been scraped away.

Nirin turned around just as Kiol reached him and the boy ducked out of his hold.

“We have to go!” Kiol burst out. Nirin’s eyes flit past his shoulder and Kiol looked as well to see Ruadhan walking leisurely over as though he hadn’t just attacked them.

“Do you think you’re safe now?” Ruadhan asked. Nirin gripped Kiol’s arm. “You think a holding seal can trap me?” The hand on his arm tugged. Kiol took a step back with Nirin.

“You promised you wouldn’t kill him,” Kiol reminded him; futilely, he knew. Ruadhan’s steps did not pause at all. Kiol spun but before he could haul Nirin out, the boy dodged behind him.

Kiol’s breath went still in his lungs. He turned back around, as fast as he could, knowing it was not fast enough, and caught the boy as he fell back into his arms. A blade was thrust through Nirin’s abdomen.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

“Now you’ll know what it’s like to die,” Ruadhan hissed, and yanked the sword back out. Nirin convulsed, a burst of red on his lips.

Kiol dropped to his knees and pressed his hands over the wound, but the sword had gone clean through. His trousers were already soaked in blood and his hands over Nirin’s stomach weren’t stemming the flow. Nirin’s wide eyes stared up at him, choking on blood as he tried to inhale.

“Nirin,” Kiol whispered. There was no saving him. Kiol kept pressure on the wound anyway, as though it would do anything. “I’m sorry.” Hot tears stung his eyes and he tried to blink them away but they fell instead, splashing on to Nirin’s cheek. The boy’s lips twinged up in what might have been a smile, but Kiol only saw a grimace of pain. “I would have stayed,” Kiol continued. “I would have stayed by your side forever. I’m sorry, Nirin, I’m—” A cold hand gripped his wrist. He glanced up to see Nirin weakly trying to move his hand. Even he knew there was no point.

Movement caught Kiol’s eye and he looked up further to see Ruadhan with his back to them. Something more than anger, something wicked and vicious, snapped inside Kiol. He tenderly moved Nirin off his lap, then grabbed the dagger the boy had dropped and lunged. Ruadhan side-stepped out of the way, facing Kiol at the same time.

“You were going to stab me!” Kiol spat. “So do it now! Kill me!”

“I wasn’t,” Ruadhan said calmly, dodging another of Kiol’s attacks. “I knew he’d sacrifice himself for you.”

“Fuck you!” Kiol sliced and managed to glance the blade off Ruadhan’s arm before he moved. Kiol stumbled and righted himself.

“Anger has made you sloppy,” Ruadhan tsked, holding his sword behind his back. “It’s unlike you, Kiol.”

Kiol attacked in a flurry, stabbing and punching without giving Ruadhan any second to recover. But it meant he had no time to recover either and soon he staggered with each step. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you!”

His blade sunk into flesh and Ruadhan buckled with a snarl. Kiol had hit his shoulder. Before he could yank the dagger out Ruadhan stood and in one smooth movement twisted Kiol’s hand off the blade, gripped Kiol’s forearm, and brought it down over his knee. Kiol felt the crack before pain exploded up his arm.

Ruadhan pulled the dagger out of his shoulder and tossed it aside, still scowling. “I don’t want to fight you, Kiol.”

“Is it true?!” Kiol held his arm, panting with effort and pain. “You’re going to kill me. You have to kill me. Is it true?”

“If it was don’t you think I would have already?”

“If you had stabbed me would you have turned away?” Kiol barked. “Pathetic! To not even look as the person you murdered dies!” Ruadhan watched him without a word. “Would you?!”

The man’s eyebrows twinged, but his mouth still didn’t move. Kiol growled through his teeth and attacked again, ignoring the splitting pain in his arm. He could work just as well with his left anyway. Ruadhan avoided as many hits he could, hands behind his back, before Kiol landed a punch on his wounded shoulder. The man grit his teeth and struck out with the short sword. It sliced across Kiol’s chest and he stumbled back.

“I told you,” Ruadhan said. “I don’t want to fight you. The boy had to die.”

“You have to die!” Kiol screamed. He lunged again. Ruadhan blocked most of the hits with his arm. Finally Kiol landed a kick hard enough to break the arm that blocked it and Ruadhan slammed back against the wall, grit teeth bared. Before Kiol could take advantage of the opening Ruadhan fled towards the door.

Kiol gave chase. Nirin was still on the ground there, chest stuttering as he struggled to breathe. Blood painted his chin. Kiol reached down and scooped up the dagger as he passed it, and threw.

It landed in Ruadhan’s back. He stumbled and collapsed to the ground. Kiol threw himself on top of Ruadhan before he had a chance to get up, tearing the dagger from his back. He wrenched Ruadhan to face him and pinned his neck down. The glint of the dagger as Kiol raised it shined in Ruadhan’s pupils. “_This_ is how you kill someone,” Kiol growled through clenched jaw. “I’ll _watch_ the life leave your body.”

The man’s eyes flicked calmly to Kiol’s, and his mouth moved.

“I will never abandon you.”

Kiol froze. Ruadhan’s eyes weren’t cold. They were solemn, soft, sad. Kiol gasped for breath but no air would pass his throat. _I will never abandon you._ Ruadhan’s voice was firm and gentle and held Kiol’s shaking hand from bringing the dagger down. It echoed from a lifetime ago.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

**||TW: child abuse, domestic abuse, emotional distress, emotional abuse, gore||**

Kiol’s twin was born first, and born dead. Kiol came after, writhing and screaming like his mother. Kiol was the second twin, and because the first was stillborn, it also made him the second child of the house. The day after he was born, a fire destroyed all of their crops two weeks from harvest. They almost starved that winter. When he was four months old his father tried to drown him in the wash basin until his mother saved him. His father said, another mouth to feed, and a cursed one at that. His mother said he was nursing and he wasn’t eating any of their food.

Not yet, his father had said.

His earliest memory was kneeling at a makeshift table, a cracked clay bowl at his side and porridge spilled across the floor and his robe. His first memory, but not the first instance. His mother lifted him away from the mess and hugged him tight.

“No worries, no worries,” she comforted him. “It’s not your fault.” She cleaned it all up and they both pretended not to see his father’s smoldering anger and hatred.

When he was a bit older he tried to follow his brother into the fields, even when the boy pushed him down hard. “Dad says you’re a curse,” he snapped. “You ruin everything.”

“Mommy says I’m _not_ a curse!” he protested, and kept following until his brother threw rocks. That was how he lost his first tooth. He ran all the way home with a bloody nose and mouth. His mother opened her arms and he flung himself into their warmth, crying.

“It’s not that bad,” she soothed. Her smile was soft and sweet and caring, the exact opposite of his father’s constant scowl. He worked out in the fields all day. When Kiol broke a dish or tore fabric or spilled food, his mother hurriedly cleaned it up so no one else would know. But it was impossible for his father not to see sometimes. If it was especially bad, usually when it involved food, the man smacked Kiol hard enough to make his ears ring and his brain turn fuzzy. His mother shielded him with her body and berated her husband, but he ignored her.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured Kiol, stroking his hair.

“It _is_ his fault,” his father fumed. “Cursed little shit! Shoulda let me kill the fucker, you stupid bitch. He’ll destroy this family.”

His mother covered his ears. “Don’t listen to him,” her lips read. “It’s not your fault. You’re a good boy.”

At night he’d often fall asleep with his head in her lap as she mended the clothing he had ripped, the fire warming his back.

His father wouldn’t go near him, his brother wouldn’t let Kiol follow him, his mother was always busy cooking or weaving or sewing. Kiol had to keep himself entertained. He wandered into the barn one day. It was empty of any big animals, his father having sold them to get through the winter after the crop failure and having never scraped up enough to purchase more. Only chickens pecked around in the dust, and two goats munched hay. The sky was gray and so the barn was dark. Everything towered above his head. He climbed the ladder, literally, as each rung was so far apart he had to pull himself up one at a time. The hayloft was even darker than the rest, but it was dry and the hay smelled crackly and sweet. He lay down in it and counted the slats of the ceiling. He could only count to ten, so when he reached ten he just started over again at one.

He must have fallen asleep. He woke to the sound of splitting. He sat up, brushing hay from his hair and looking around. It sounded like wood splitting, but his father wouldn’t be chopping firewood in the middle of the day. He stood and felt the boards beneath his feet give a little. He didn’t have time to jump away before they fell out from under him and he plummeted down.

He struggled out of the pile of hay and wood splinters then looked up. The hayloft had collapsed, bringing the hay down with it into manure and mud. Not even his mother could fix that.

When his father came back from the fields she hid him in the pantry and he covered his ears but couldn’t block out their screams. He had destroyed all the hay for the winter and spring, meaning the goats would have nothing to eat. The sound of a slap and a thump brought him running out. He only caught a glimpse of his mother on the floor, hand over her cheek, before a giant shadow fell over him. His father slammed him onto the ground, one hand wrapped tight around his neck. He kicked and scratched but it was futile. His father’s anger suffocated him.

“Die, you useless bastard,” the man spat. “Stop struggling, you fuck, this is your fate! Accept it! Fucking accept it! It’s coming five years too late!”

His mother threw herself at him, screaming. Her kicks and scratches did much more than Kiol’s did, and she pried the fingers from around his throat. “Kill me first!” she screeched, hugging him tight. Her hair and eyes were more feral than Kiol had ever seen. “If you want to kill him you’ll have to kill me! Kill me! You coward!”

The man spat on the floor and stormed out. His mother burst into tears, sobbing into Kiol’s hair. Tears stung his eyes too, but he blinked them away. At least he could breathe.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his mother sobbed, clutching him like he was still dying. “It’s not your fault, good boy, it’s not your fault. I’m so sorry.” He combed her hair until she calmed down, like she always did for him. That winter they ate a lot of goat.

It was night in early spring, when flowers poked up from melting frost but the air still nipped exposed skin. He lay curled up in the warmth of his mother’s arms when all at once everything was loud and fast and chaotic. He thought at first someone had lit a lot of lamps, it was too bright inside for the middle of the night. Then he saw the flames eating the walls. His father was beating at the fire with a blanket while his brother was grabbing food from the pantry. His mother was rushing around, grabbing a bunch of different items and piling them onto a quilt. Kiol didn’t realize she was saving valuables like cutlery and heirlooms. He jumped out of the blankets and tried to help, tossing in soap and sewing supplies and toys.

He reached for a dishcloth on the table when he was yanked roughly away and thrown. His back hit the wall and he crumpled down dangerously close to the fire. It was so blindingly bright, its flames hotter and more blistering than Kiol had ever known fire to be. He scrambled away from it and hid in the pantry. His father was still yelling, giving orders, and feet stomped around before the sounds faded outside. Through the crack in the pantry door he could see light and the lurching shadows it cast, angry and menacing. It was so hot he didn’t dare go close. He climbed a barrel of rice, hugged the far wall, and closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he was there when desperate arms closed around him. Pulled from the wall and hugged tight in her thin arms, his mother clumsily carried him through the heat. She was not very strong, and he had gotten quite big, so he slid down and her knees hit him as she stumbled, but she made it into the cold night air. Hefting him into her arms only for him to fall down again, she managed to drag him over to the small crowd that had formed. His father stood at the front, watching the house he had built with his own hands crumble to ash.

His mother sank to the ground and clutched Kiol to her chest. He buried his face in her shoulder even though it shook violently with her harsh coughs. But his mother’s secure solidness was suddenly gone, and he flailed in the air as the lapel of his robes choked him.

“Why did you save him?” his father screamed. He tried to lug him back towards the burning house. His mother grabbed on to Kiol’s legs and he thought he would tear in two as they both tried to rip him from the other.

“Let him go!” she screamed, her voice somehow both shrill and raspy. “It’s not his fault! Let him go right now!”

Kiol’s head hit the ground as his father relented and chucked him down. He didn’t care about the burst of pain on his skull, he clawed his robes away from his neck and gasped for breath. His mother pulled him back into her arms.

“You want this little shit?” his father spat. “Fine! You can have him! Take him and never come back! I’m not going to harbor a fucking monster any longer!”

By daybreak the crowd had dispersed, leaving only their neighbors who helped dig through the rubble and salvage what they could. Kiol was still clutched in his mother’s arms. He cowered back against her as his father stomped over.

“You think I was fucking joking? If he stays any longer we’ll all be dead. Drown him in the river or get the fuck out of my sight.”

His mother packed a few things in a handkerchief and with Kiol’s hand clenched so tightly in hers it was hurting him, she walked away without looking back.

They left the farming village and walked for hours without stopping. When the sun started to go down Kiol started to whine. “I’m tired.” “My feet hurt.” “I’m hungry.” His mother coughed into her arm and kept tugging him along. Finally they made it to a town. Since it was dark, there were no street vendors and most of the shops had closed. A pawn shop was open and his mother brought him inside.

They had no money; there hadn’t been much to take. But his mother had brought a few things that could be pawned. She opened her cloth and passed the man a bronze spoon. He examined it with a bored expression.

“It’s not worth much,” he said dryly. He glanced down at the handkerchief and pointed. “How about that comb? If it’s genuine jade I can give you a good price for it.”

Kiol’s mother hastily tied up the handkerchief again. “No, that’s a family heirloom,” she said. “I’m not pawning it. How much for the spoon?”

“Ehh.” The man fidgeted it between two fingers, glancing between Kiol and his mother. “Half a coin.” That was not even enough for a one-person meal. But his mother had never bartered before, let alone pawned anything, so she simply accepted the money and took Kiol back out.

The inn was a large building with warm light and bustling noise inside. Kiol had never seen anything like it. He hid behind his mother’s skirts, scared as much as he was awed, while she walked up to the desk. He couldn’t even see over it, craning his neck all the way up to see the person standing behind it.

“How much for a night?” she asked.

“For an adult and child, it’ll be five coins.”

She coughed into her arm for long enough to make the person look uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” she offered when she managed to catch her breath. She put the half coin on the table. “Is there any food you can give us for this?”

“For this?” They looked at it like it had offended them. “Not much, ma’am.”

“Whatever you can give us, we’ll take, please.” She must have sounded desperate enough. They sighed and picked up the coin and went into the back. His mother pulled Kiol out of the way to the side wall, and he sat by her feet and watched the patrons sitting at tables. They ate delicious smelling meats and soups and drank wine, and their joyous laughing faces looked grotesque in the candlelight. He hugged his mother’s leg and buried his head in her skirts. She stroked his hair until the person came back.

“Here.” They handed her a bowl. Then they dropped the half coin into her other hand. “You can take this back. This is what we give beggars for free, anyway.”

“We’re not beggars,” his mother said obstinately, trying to give the coin back. “And you’re not the Society, why should you give out free things?”

They held up their palms and shook their head. “The Society gives us the rice because they’re rather out of the way and people tend to come here first. If you need a place to stay, the temple is to the north. They’ll give you a dry place to sleep, ma’am.”

Kiol looked up at his mother. She gnawed on her lip like she always did when she was frustrated. “Thank you,” she said briskly, and pulled Kiol out.

They sat on a dark stoop and she pushed the wooden bowl of hot porridge into his hands. “Are you hungry? Eat up, eat up.” He was hungry. He tipped the bowl to his mouth and had eaten more than half of it before he realized. His mother watched him with a small smile.

“You’re hungry too, mommy.” He tried to hand the bowl to her. She laughed and pushed it gently back.

“I’m not, you eat it all.” She turned away and started violently coughing again. Kiol set the bowl aside and patted her back.

“Are you sick?” he asked. It took her a while to get her breath again and she turned back to him with a weak smile.

“No, I still have smoke in my lungs. It’s alright, I’ll be good as new soon.” Her eyes shifted and her already weak smile grew strained. Kiol followed her gaze to see that the wooden bowl had split when he’d put it aside and the remaining porridge was all over the ground.

He curled his legs to his chest, trying to make himself smaller. “I’m sorry mommy,” he whispered.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. Did you get enough?” He was still hungry, but he nodded. “Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

He bit his lip and stared disconsolately at his lap. She sighed and gripped his head, pushing it around playfully. “Would you like to comb my hair? Isn’t that better than an apology?”

He looked back up with a smile. She took out the jade comb and handed it to him, then untied her hair. He stationed himself behind her and began gently, as gently as possible, combing it through her long, dark hair. He had done it many times before. He knew why she wouldn’t pawn it, too. She told him it had been a gift from her mother, who had gotten it from her mother, who had gotten it from hers, and so on. Kiol’s grandmother had died before his mother was even married, and that’s why he had never met her. And because the comb was jade, she said, even he wouldn’t be able to break it.

When the tangles were all out of her hair she stopped him. “Good boy,” she praised. “Are you done?” He nodded and handed the comb back. “Good, let’s find somewhere to sleep.”

“The temple?”

“No.”

He followed her around until she found a clean alleyway, and she sat down against the wall. “Here.” She patted her lap. He lay down with his shoulders resting there, and she stroked his hair. It wasn’t as cozy as the rug in front of their fireplace, and he twisted around incessantly.

“Hush, hush,” she sighed. She pulled off her outer robe and tucked it over him. “You won’t feel uncomfortable once you’re asleep, but you won’t sleep if you toss around so much. Are you warm enough?”

He settled down onto the cold hard ground and pouted. “Yes,” he muttered. A few beats of silence passed. “When can we go back home?” he asked.

His mother was silent too, for a long time. If she ever replied he didn’t know, because he fell asleep waiting for the answer.

The next day the main street had a few booths set up. Kiol followed his mother as she wandered between them and smiled at the people trying to sell their wares. She stopped by a fruit stand and held out the half coin. “Is this enough for an apple?” she asked. Kiol stood on his tiptoes and pulled himself up with the edge of the cart to ogle all the colorful bins of fruit. The woman nodded and took the coin, and his mother lifted an apple to examine it.

“That one, that one!” Kiol pointed at a pretty half-red, half-green apple.

“That will be too sour,” his mother told him.

“I want that one!” he whined, slapping his palm on the booth. Suddenly his hand was holding nothing and he toppled backwards, hitting his tail bone hard on the cobblestone. Fruits bounced and rolled around him. He looked up to see the booth had cracked in the middle and bowed inward, knocking over the bins.

“Ya!” the woman hissed, pointing at him, then his mother. “This is my livelihood! You’ve broken my booth and destroyed my produce!”

His mother knelt and began scooping up the fruits, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

“This is worth five hundred of your half coins! Pay up!”

His mother put the bruised fruits back and the woman picked one up and threw it back down. “I can’t sell these! Pay up!”

“It was an accident, you saw that, please understand…”

“So I’m supposed to not eat for a week because of your accident?!”

Kiol’s mother grabbed his hand and started running. The woman shouted and started following them, but either decided she didn’t want to leave what was left of her good wares or that it wasn’t worth it, and gave up after only a few steps. Kiol’s mother didn’t, and they ran out of the town and well down the road before she slowed. Kiol’s tail bone was still throbbing, and he burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mommy,” he sobbed, sinking to his knees. His mother sat in front of him and rubbed his arms as he apologized over and over.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she comforted. “Don’t cry, oh, it’s okay, it was an accident.” She opened her arms and he threw himself into them and sobbed into her shoulder. When he had cried himself out she held him at arms length and he looked at her blurry smile. “We have to keep walking. Good, strong boy, come on. That’s it.” She helped him up and they started the slow trek down the road.

They didn’t reach another town or village by nightfall and slept in the crook of some tree roots. She kept him up most of the night with her coughing.

When they reached the next town, she pawned another piece from her small collection of items. As Kiol sat devouring the simple steam bun she had bought, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She barely touched hers, gazing distantly at it. When he was finished, he was still hungry, and he pulled on his mother’s sleeve. It tore at the seam and he let go immediately.

She looked down at it, expression unchanged. Then with a sigh she handed her steam bun over to him. “Here, my love, finish this for me.”

“Mommy, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It must be mine for not sewing this strong enough, hm?” She took a needle and thread from her pocket and smiled at him for the first time that day. “It is a good thing you saved these from the fire after all. What a smart boy.” He slowly ate the steam bun while she mended her sleeve. She used to hum while she sewed, but she didn’t now. She only stopped every so often to cough.

Again, they slept in a cold alleyway.

“Father said there was a temple in every village worth anything more than ours,” Kiol said as he stared up at the stars. “If they will let us sleep there, why can’t we go?”

“It’s not true charity,” his mother said, combing her fingers through his hair. “They might take you from me and make you work for them. Would you like that?”

“No!” he said immediately. She sighed and nodded.

“I wouldn’t like it, either. Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of us. You know that, right? I’ll always take care of you, my sweet, precious, adorable boy.” She pinched his cheeks and he wiggled away, laughing. She smiled too and pointed up at the stars. “See that big shiny star close to the moon?”

“Yeah?”

“Then down a bit, that one to the lower right.” She traced the stars into an image in Kiol’s mind. It looked like a deer. “Some stars together make a picture like that, they’re called constellations. That one is ‘deer who found clear water.’” She told him the story of a herd of deer who lived off of drinking rain puddles. One time it hadn’t rained for so long that there hadn’t been puddles in days, and the deer were dying. One of them declared it would find water somewhere. Despite its family begging it not to go into the dark, dangerous wood, it went anyway, and it met a hare. The hare tried to trick the deer into becoming food for a wolf, so that the wolf would be full and wouldn’t eat the hare, but the deer saw through the trick. Instead he convinced the hare to work together and together they scared off the wolf so it didn’t eat anyone. In gratitude, the hare showed the deer a stream of clear, running water, that never ran out. The deer brought its whole family and they never ran out of water again, and deer and hares were always friends from then on.

When the story ended Kiol asked, “Is there a hare constellation?”

His mother laughed. “Oh, you’re still awake? Aren’t you tired?”

“No, I want another star story.”

His mother leaned over and rubbed her nose against his. “You will get another constellation tomorrow night. How about it? Whenever we sleep under the stars, you can learn another constellation.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. She hummed a laugh and scratched his head.

“Good. For now, it’s time to sleep.”

The next day they left again and on the road Kiol noticed that his shoe felt funny. He looked down but it looked fine. Not until he tripped and landed on his hands and knees did his mother notice.

“Your sole is coming off,” she sighed. He had ripped one knee of his pants, too. That, she could sew easily, but she didn’t have strong enough thread and needle for his shoe. He had to carry his shoes and walk barefoot to the next town, and she pawned a silver thimble to get money for some strong waxed thread and a thick needle. But without a thimble, the needle didn’t pass so easily through the leather. She grit her teeth and bore the pain with her bare skin, and when she was done, her fingers were bleeding. But she passed the shoe back to him with a smile.

Eventually, his mother ran out of things to pawn. She tried to get some jobs, cleaning or sewing or mending. But her cough still hadn’t gone away after weeks, and she was too weak to clean. And Kiol always, eventually, broke something, and they had to leave town again. They went from town to town. If Kiol didn’t break someone else’s things, he ruined their own. His mother was constantly trying to find thread to fix their shoes and clothes, until their clothing was a patchwork of rags. In the end, despite her hardest efforts, they had to resort to begging. They walked to a city and sat to the side of a busy street, and his mother called out to passerby with extended hands. Most looked purposefully away from her, not even giving her a glance. Some shoved her and spat at her feet. But at the end of the day, she had just enough money for some porridge, and they split the bowl. She barely ate half, and let him have the rest while she coughed. She had gotten pale and gaunt, and even her smiles unsettled Kiol now instead of comforting him. But she insisted she wasn’t sick.

“Mommy?” he whispered when she had stopped coughing.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Can I comb your hair?”

She smiled down at her lap. “Of course.” She took the jade comb, the last thing they could call their own, from her inner pocket and handed it to him. He hadn’t combed her hair in a while, and she had stopped bothering to put it up, so it was full of tangles. He tenderly worked through them, making sure never to pull too hard or sharply. She leaned her chin against her chest and sighed. “This is the capital, Kiol. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“It means it’s the biggest city. There are many, many buildings, and many people, and many businesses. Tomorrow we’ll look around, and maybe find someone who will let me work. Then we can make our own money again.”

“We made our own money today.”

“No,” she sighed. “We were given other people’s money.”

“But when you work, the boss gives you money. Isn’t that being given other people’s money, too?”

“No, Kiol. It’s not the same.”

“Why n—”

When he cut himself off and didn’t continue for several seconds, she straightened and glanced back at him. He stared down at his lap in horror. In his hand was one half of the jade comb. In his lap were two broken pieces of the rest of it.

His mother stared in silence too. For a long few minutes they both sat there and stared.

His mother’s chilly hand enveloped his own. He dropped the comb into it and she picked the other pieces from his lap. He opened his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat, and the apology wouldn’t come out. Without a sound his mother tucked the pieces into her robe and lay on the ground to sleep.

The next day she brought Kiol around the city and asked almost everyone she saw if they knew of work she could do. Most turned their faces away and hurried off. A few scolded her, telling her she would never find work in her state and that she would get herself and her son killed, that she should just let the Society take him. No one offered a job.

They had to beg again that evening, but because it was so late in the day, they didn’t get nearly enough. No matter how Kiol tried to plead with her, she refused to eat, so he ate the tiny bowl of porridge by himself.

She tried again the next day, and the next. She had been right; Kiol had never seen a place so big. It seemed they never stopped walking, but they never went to the same street twice. Still, at the end, his mother didn’t have a job, and on the fifth night they didn’t have anything to eat at all.

That morning she took Kiol to a pawn shop. They hadn’t been to one in months. She lay the broken shards of the comb onto the counter. She had learned now, and she bartered, but it was a broken item. She got twenty coins for it. More money than they’d ever had at once, but even Kiol knew it wasn’t as much as they needed. Nothing ever was.

But that day they ate steam buns with meat on the inside, and it was so delicious Kiol savored every bite with tears in his eyes. It was still gone in less than a minute.

The two of them sat between a closed vendor booth and a building, silent and gloomy. It was dark but not late enough to sleep, and people still occasionally wandered by. His mother didn’t like to sleep on the ground when there were still people around.

She straightened with a determined exhale and Kiol glanced over at her. She forced a smile. “Do you want a star story?”

He looked up at the sky, then away from her. “It’s cloudy,” he muttered.

“But the stars are still there, behind the clouds. And I can still tell a story.”

“No,” he said.

She was quiet for a bit longer, then spoke up again. “Do you want to comb my hair?”

He looked over at her. He didn’t even have the energy for guilt. “We don’t have a comb,” he reminded her.

“So? Who needs a lousy comb? Creator made us with everything we’d ever need, right on our bodies.” She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. “You can just use your hand.”

“My hand is dirty.”

“So is my hair,” she laughed. Laughing made her cough, and she bent over as her body shook violently. Kiol watched her face turn red and her desperate gasps for breath before she managed to quell it. Her coughs lately were hoarse and deep and painful.

Kiol scooted himself behind her and began combing his fingers through her hair. It was already tangled to mats, and without a comb, no matter how slow or careful Kiol was, he thought it must have hurt when his fingers snagged on a knot. But his mother sat still and said nothing.

He paused when the hair under his fingers slid too easily. Strands of her hair always came out, but not a handful. He finished pulling the knot out, then held up the chunk of hair. At its end, it was still attached to a bloody piece of scalp. “Mom,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“You’re getting sicker.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she insisted, as she always did. When he didn’t reply she turned around. “What makes you say th—” She stopped upon seeing what was in his grasp. She reached over and took it from him, disbelief and horror contorting her face. Slowly she reached her other hand up and felt the back of her head. She pulled trembling fingers back coated in blood.

Kiol found his voice first. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault, I, it…” She looked up at him. She didn’t smile or laugh. The terror in her eyes made every word and thought die on Kiol’s tongue.

“Even when there’s nothing,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “even when we have nothing, you…”

He stared wide-eyed at her. He’d seen many people in his life look at him with horror, disgust, anger, and contempt. But none of those emotions had ever been on his mother’s face before.

She must have seen his own horror because she forced her face smooth again and tried to smile. It stretched her thin, cracked lips too wide, and it never reached her eyes. “No, no, it’s not your fault, of course. It’s not your fault. Here, come here.” She patted her lap. When he didn’t move she took his arm and pulled him over. “It’s okay, Kiol, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep for now.”

His arms trembled as he lowered himself onto her lap. Her hands hovered over his head. Only for a second, just for one quick second, but the hesitation was enough to notice. Then she stroked his hair and bit her lip. “There now, it’s okay,” she whispered. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time. His mother tried extra hard to stifle her coughs but they weren’t the thing keeping him awake this time. Eventually he did manage to drift off.

He woke to something jostling him, but it was the loud voice that brought him fully to his senses. “Get up! You can’t sleep here!” He sat up and looked at the man who had been kicking his foot. “Ehh, you’re awake now?” he growled. “I have a business to run, I can’t have street rats lying like the dead next to my booth. Get out of here! Scram!” The man tried to shoo him like he really was vermin that could be scared off.

Kiol looked around, confused. “Where’s my mother?”

“Eh, your mother, what? Do you even have a mother?”

“I have a mother!” Kiol defended, angry, panicked. “Did you see her?”

“I haven’t seen nobody but your disgusting face. I’m losing my patience, boy! Get out of here or I’ll call a soldier over!”

Kiol stood up and looked around. Some vendors and random people were wandering the street, but it wasn’t congested. He looked around but his mother was no where in sight. “She’s here somewhere,” he insisted.

“If she’s as filthy as you she better not be! Go find her and sleep in another street!” The man shoved his shoulder and Kiol stumbled into the street, then just took off down it. “Mom!” he called. Everyone was so tall, even the booths at the side of the road seemed to tower over him. It had never seemed so imposing when his mother was next to him. “Do you know where my mom is?” he asked another vendor getting their booth ready. They glanced at him, then quickly turned away.

He ran further, still calling. He grabbed onto a man escorting a woman. “Have you seen my mother?” he asked desperately. The man scoffed in disgust and shoved him off. He reeled backward and fell and the two continued on.

“Disgusting! He dirtied my sleeve!” the man muttered.

Kiol jumped back up and ran the other way, to the other end of the street. No matter who he asked, he was pushed away or ignored. No matter how much he called, he couldn’t see his mother anywhere. What if she had gone back to where they were sleeping and found him gone and left to look for him? At the thought he rushed back over. The man was still setting up his booth. His mother was still no where in sight.

“Mom!”

“Hey, you again?! Didn’t I tell you to scram?!” The vendor waved his hands at him.

“My mom might come back here!” Kiol explained. The man stomped over and Kiol fled before finding out what he planned to do. He stopped in another alcove between two doorways. “Mom! Mom!” He had shouted his throat raw. He stopped, panting, and watched the ever-growing crowd amble past. None of them looked at him. None of them were his mother.

He sank down and hugged his legs, burying his face in his knees. It was dark and his voice sounded loud even as he barely whimpered. “Mommy…?”


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

Kiol stayed on that street for two days, walking its length, waiting for his mother to come find him. The vendor who had first yelled at him almost seemed to take pity on him. He gave Kiol a cup of water and told him to go to the temple, that they’d take care of him there. But that was what Kiol was scared of the most, after his mother’s reluctance to ever go to temples. He ran away from the vendor and made sure to avoid him from then on. But his mother never returned to get him and hunger finally drove him onto other streets.

If that one street had been intimidating, the whole city was terrifying. All the buildings rose up too high, all the people were strangers, and all the strangers made it hard to see where he was going. Without his mother it seemed colder and bigger than before. Plus he didn’t know what to do. He’d never been on his own before. The roiling pain in his stomach had turned to a dull ache, which had become no hunger at all, but Kiol knew from experience that that was a bad sign.

He didn’t have anything to pawn and he didn’t know how to clean or sew like his mother had for work. All he knew how to do was beg. He had never done it himself, had only sat to the side and watched his mother, but it was easy enough to mimic. He knelt by the side of a busy street and cupped his hands together.

“Money or food,” he called out. “Money or food for the hungry poor.” He stretched his hands out imploringly to anyone who passed close by. “Some charity for the hungry poor,” he pleaded. They all glanced at him and recoiled away. He was there half the day and hadn’t gotten even a half coin. Usually his mother had a coin or two at that point. A shadow loomed over him and he immediately started, “Money or f—” before his eyes adjusted and he realized it was a soldier.

“Are you alone, young man?” she asked. No one had ever called him ‘young man’ before. But his mother had warned him to be cautious of soldiers and so he didn’t care how politely he was spoken to.

“No,” he lied.

“Then why are you begging?”

“My mom is here,” he said.

“Then why. Are you begging?” she repeated.

Kiol didn’t know what else to say to get the soldier to leave. His mother had told him soldiers might bring him to the temple and he’d have to work for them for the rest of his life. He didn’t know exactly what work it was but he knew he didn’t want to do it. Besides, if he was in the temple and his mother came to find him, she wouldn’t be able to. He knew she'd never go there.

He jumped up and sprinted down the street. The soldier called after him and gave chase, but even as weak and lost as he was, Kiol easily darted through the crowd and into narrow spaces that she couldn’t follow him through. When the soldier was nowhere to be seen and Kiol was sure she wouldn’t catch up, he leaned against a wall to catch his breath.

He wandered to another road far away and began begging again. Everyone continued ignoring him.

When the sun was going down a young lady crouched in front of him. Having long since given up calling out, he was just slouched against a wall. But seeing her not blatantly ignoring him, he sat up straight and held out his hands. “Money or food for the hungry poor,” he recited.

She fished in her robe and took out a rice ball, placing it in his hands. He bit into it right away, devouring it as she watched him with a sad expression.

“If you don’t have a home, I can show you to the temple,” she said gently. He stopped eating and looked up at her. “They’ll take you in and you’ll have hot meals and a warm bed every night. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He gripped the rice ball harder and stared at her, ready to run. “They’re in the northern district,” she told him. “It’s not too far.” He gripped the ball too hard and felt the rice crumbling apart in his hands. He shoved the rest into his mouth before it broke apart too much and took off, leaving the lady behind.

When his mother was with him, despite being in the exact same circumstance he was still in, she was recognized as his guardian. People might spit and curse at her for keeping her son in this kind of life, but they wouldn’t dare call soldiers. Or, if they did, soldiers wouldn’t dare be seen ripping a child from his mother. But alone, he was viewed as the Society’s responsibility. Very few would give him anything no matter how much he begged, and he couldn’t stay in the same spot for too long or inevitably a soldier would show up to bring him to the temple. Begging got him nothing but starvation. So he resorted to stealing.

He wasn’t brave enough to pickpocket but in the areas with many vendors there was also a large crowd. He could slip unseen through them, grab a random item off a food cart, and slip back. It didn’t always work; sometimes he was chased down until he dropped whatever he stole, sometimes his wrist was caught and he was beaten. He memorized the streets and buildings that had before seemed so strange and foreign until he could navigate them blind.

He was used to sleeping on the cold ground, even in rain. He was used to hunger and scorn and being ignored. He did not bother crying after that first time his mother left, because there was no point and he had to survive, so he survived. But the fear never left him. Fear of the dark faces of strangers looming over him, fear of the helplessness and confusion, fear of the emptiness that surrounded him. Of the loneliness. Throughout his whole life, when everyone else had despised him, he had had his mother to comfort him. He had had her arms to fall into, her voice to soothe, her skill to repair what he damaged. Now when his shoes fell apart and his clothes tore, he couldn’t do anything about it. He went barefoot and had to steal clothing when he could, even if it was ruined clothes from others’ trash. If it could stay on his body, he wore it until it couldn’t any more, which usually did not take longer than a couple of weeks. And at night when he curled up in the dark with only his hunger and the stars, he wanted so badly to hear another story, to be transported from that life even if only for a few minutes. But he had no stories, no comfort, and no mother. After several months he had no hope of her coming back for him. And so he survived.

Every day bells would ring out across the city at a certain time, and shops would close, people would leave the street, and everything went still and quiet. His mother had told him that it was time for worship. But he didn’t know what that was or how to do it, and all his mother had done was sit quietly with her eyes closed. So every day he just wandered the empty streets, using the unsupervised time to dig through trash for scraps of clothing or food that people had tossed. Eventually, however, he noticed a pattern. After six days, there would be a day when the silence lasted much longer. And before the bells rang, a swarm of people would flow to the north.

He always avoided the north part of the city because he knew it was where the temple was. But he finally gave in to his curiosity and followed the crowd of people. They passed over a bridge and the giant red-painted face of a building eclipsed them all in shadow. Even though Kiol had never seen a temple before he knew that this was one. But the crowd was pushing him along so he couldn’t turn back now. He kept his head down and marched along with the others as an obnoxiously loud bell sounded across the manicured grounds.

Once in the enormous hall where everyone was kneeling on cushions, Kiol scurried to the side and pressed himself against the back wall. It took a long time for everyone to sit, but once they were all settled, a woman way at the other end of the room stood up. She was so far away she was no bigger than Kiol’s pinkie finger. Behind her was a statue of another woman, her arms outstretched. Kiol’s heart stuttered and he hugged his knees and buried his face in the darkness there.

Despite how far away the woman was, her voice carried across the hall and Kiol could hear it clearly even from his farthest seat.

“We welcome you all and please accept our gratitude for your company today. Let’s pray together now.”

The sea of people all bowed like a wave and their voices eclipsed each other as they prayed. Though they spoke in tandem the cacophony of their voices was unintelligible and the chorus of a thousand voices echoed between the walls. Kiol pressed his hands over his ears and looked around. There was no one guarding the doors. Kiol could easily slip out right then. But what caught his eye on the other side of the door stopped him. Against the other back wall was a long table piled with food. _Food_. An enormous pot filled with rice, plates of fruits and vegetables, still-steaming steamed buns, heaps of sweet rice cakes, and more than ten teapots.

Kiol looked around at all the bent over heads, all facing away from him save the one woman in the front, but her head was bowed too from what he could tell. He stayed crouched and crept along the back wall, past the doorway, to the table. He cast a glance around again. No one was paying attention to him. He reached up and snagged a steamed bun, eating half of it in a second. It had _meat_ in it. Kiol devoured the rest and grabbed two more, stuffing one into his shirt and sticking the other in his mouth. Then he moved to the sweet rice cakes, sticking a few into his shirt as well. When he grabbed another and brought his arm back, it caught on one of the plates. Before he could stop it the dish ricocheted up, sending the sweets to the ground before the plate followed and shattered into pieces on the hard wood. The sound of it reverberated even over the endless voices and they trailed to a stop as thousands of eyes turned.

Clutching his prizes in a bulging shirt, Kiol sprinted as hard as he could out of the hall, across the bridge, and disappeared into the city.

Kiol avoided the north district for more than a week. But eventually it drew him back, almost like he had no choice. It must have been the enticing prospect of food. At night it seemed no one was around, but the front temple wasn’t locked, both its doors opened wide. He crept inside and felt along the wall until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was no table of food along the back wall. He got on his hands and knees and felt around the floor for anything that may have dropped, but of course there was nothing.

He stood again and an unusual chill made him reach down. His pants knee had torn.

He looked around. All the big windows only let in a vague haze of light with the clouds covering a slim moon. But it was enough to see the shapes within the hall. There were still thousands of sitting cushions. At the other end the statue of Creator stood tall and proud with outstretched arms.

Kiol walked down the center of the room. The statue only got bigger. When he stood in front of it he had to crane his neck all the way back to see the face gently smiling down at him.

His mother had told him Creator had made everything. Even them. When Kiol worriedly said he thought she had made him, his mother laughed and hugged him and said she had, but it wouldn’t have been possible without Creator.

But he had never seen Creator, only these statues—usually much, much smaller than this one. And Creator had never done anything for them. Not when his father had hurt him, not when their house burned down, not when he and his mother were starving on the street. And there she stood in front of him, arms open like his mother used to open her arms for him to fall into, as though she _deserved_ his love.

He threw himself at the statue and beat his fists upon the stone feet, not caring that every punch stung the sides of his hands. He attacked it with silent ferocity, but the stone did not crack. He ruined everything else in his life without even trying, but no matter how hard he hit, he couldn’t do anything to the statue.

His arm was caught mid-air and someone pulled him easily off the platform. Kiol writhed in their grip, lashing out and trying to squirm away, but he made contact with nothing.

“What are you doing?” a voice high above his head asked. Kiol didn’t stop fighting. His other arm was grabbed and held down. He resorted to kicking the air. “Would you like to explain why you’re attacking a sacred statue?”

“No!” he yelled.

“Why are you in the temple this late at night?”

“No!”

“If you stop fighting I can give you food.”

He stopped immediately at that and looked up. The man holding on to him was tall and though he didn’t look particularly strong, his grip on Kiol was iron. His hair was blacker than shadow but his skin so pale it glowed even with a lack of light. He wasn’t wearing the white and gold disciple robes, but Kiol didn’t know who else would be in the temple.

“I won’t work for you!” he said loudly. “I won’t become a disciple! If you make me you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh?” The man raised an eyebrow no less stony than the statue’s. “How will I be sorry?”

“Because I’ll break everything! You’ll see! Everything’ll break and be ruined!” He glared as viciously as he could at the man. He did not seem perturbed at all, only looked down at him with curious contemplation.

“You won’t become a disciple,” he said. “Come with me if you want a meal.” He let Kiol go and walked off. Kiol stood for a moment, staring at the retreating back and debating on running out of the temple. But his stomach had more control than his head, and he followed.

They left the temple grounds and walked through the streets. A few patches of geometric light fell from windows, occasional bursts of conversation or laughter drifted by them, but it was mostly dark and quiet.

They walked along a stone wall Kiol had never seen before, though he hadn’t seen much in the northern district. Just when he thought it would never end, it opened to a wide archway guarded with four soldiers. All four of them bowed deeply to the man.

“General,” they chorused.

The man tilted his head in acknowledgment. Then he gestured to one of the soldiers. “Go wake up a cook and have them bring a proper dinner to my chambers.” The soldier gave another bow before heading off and the man continued on. Kiol stared up at the three remaining soldiers as he passed between them, but they did not give him a single glance, standing straight and staring ahead. He didn’t recognize any of them, though he had had many a run-in with the uniform they wore.

They walked around a building that on the surface resembled the temple, with its sturdy wooden construction and red painted columns, but where the temple eaves and railings were carved in intricate decorations, these buildings and colonnades were basic and stark.

More guards were patrolling the walls and grounds, but they only ever bowed to the man before continuing.

The man’s chambers were bigger than Kiol’s house had been. They entered the first door on the left side of the hall and Kiol looked around as the man lit several lamps. An open window on the far wall, a bed in one corner, a standing wardrobe, and several chests. At the man’s gesture Kiol sat at the low table in the center of the room and the man sat across from him.

“What is your name?” he asked.

Kiol crossed his arms and glared.

The man continued without concern. “My name is Ruadhan. I am the Temple General. Do you know what that is?” Kiol continued glaring. “It means I am in charge of all the soldiers not just in this city, but in the realm. Soldiers protect people and fight against anyone who wants to harm others.” Ruadhan rested his arms on the table. “They learn how to fight properly, how to defend themselves, and how to use many different weapons. Would you like to learn how to fight?”

Kiol still said nothing. The man stood and went to a chest, pulling out paper and an ink set. He sat again and rolled some ink, dipped the brush, and began writing. Kiol watched him deftly paint lines on the paper until there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Ruadhan called without looking up.

A man entered carrying a large tray. Ruadhan moved his things aside and it was set in the middle of the table. Kiol had to swallow the pool of saliva that immediately flooded his mouth. Steam floated off bowls of rice and sauced vegetables and bite-sized pieces of meat. Ruadhan lifted a teapot and poured a cup to place in front of Kiol. Then he put a pair of chopsticks on the table. “Eat slowly,” he advised. “You’ll get sick if you eat too fast. But you may eat your fill.”

Kiol couldn’t take his eyes off the food. Even when he had still had a home, they’d never had a feast like this. He grabbed the chopsticks and the bowl of meat and shoveled it into his mouth, disregarding Ruadhan’s words. He ate some rice next before venturing to try a vegetable. Unlike the bitter, mushy taste he was used to, it was covered in some sweet sauce that made it taste good. He alternated between bites of rice and vegetable then, stuffing his mouth to capacity before slowing to swallow some only to instantly add more.

He finished every last morsel and licked the plates clean. When he put his chopsticks down, Ruadhan gestured to the untouched cup. “Please drink.” Kiol had never liked tea very much, it tasted bitter like vegetables. But he lifted the cup to drink anyway, downing all of it in one go. When he put the cup back on the table, the porcelain cracked.

Terror whipped through him like an icy wind. He couldn’t move. He certainly couldn’t meet the man’s gaze. Hands stretched towards him from over the table and he flinched away. But they only lifted the cup and placed it gently on the tray.

“Is this what you meant?” Ruadhan asked mildly. “Do things you touch often break?” Kiol hugged his knees to his chest. Ruadhan tilted his head. “I see. Would you like to know how to stop?” Kiol looked up at that, then shifted onto his knees.

“I can be fixed?” he blurted.

“In a way. If your destructive tendencies are focused and intentional, it will prevent involuntary destruction.” Kiol stared at him blankly. “You must break things on purpose,” Ruadhan explained. “Then accidents will occur less.”

Kiol’s face fell at that. “But I don’t want to break things at all,” he mumbled.

“We can discuss it later. It’s late now. Would you like to return to the streets or will you allow a bed to be made for you here?”

Kiol watched him with suspicion. He didn’t want to be trapped here. But the man offered for him to leave, so it was his own choice. “I can stay,” he said.

Ruadhan nodded and stood. He paused at the door and looked back. “May I hear your name now?”

Kiol pressed his lips together, reluctant. But the word forced its way out. “Kiol.”

“Kiol,” Ruadhan repeated gently. Kiol stiffened and fire laced under his skin. He had never realized that the only voice that had said his name before was his mother’s. “Thank you, Kiol,” Ruadhan said. “I will arrange a space for you to sleep.”

The bed was soft and the blanket warm. Kiol had no problem sleeping in a room with so many others, he’d spent almost a year sleeping on the streets in full view of crowds, after all. But the bed was too comfortable. He tossed around trying to find a spot that he could sleep on until exhaustion knocked him out.

He woke with the bustle of others waking. Everyone in the room got up at the same time, washed their hands and faces, and got dressed. Kiol hid under his covers. He heard them filing out, but footsteps paused by his bed.

“Hey new kid, you’d better get up if you don’t want latrine duty and whatever punishment the commander feels like giving. It’s usually a hundred laps.” Kiol shrunk further under the blanket. The feet walked off. He poked his head out to see that the room had emptied. He swung his feet off the bed. They hit something smooth and chilly and he recoiled.

A pair of leather shoes was placed by the bed. Folded neatly beside them were some garments.

The door opened and he yanked the blanket over his head again.

“The Temple General has requested your presence. Please wash and dress and I will take you to meet him.”

.

Kiol stood out in a dirt field, looking between Ruadhan and the straw dummy. The man watched him patiently for another few minutes before stepping up again and kneeling beside him. “Shall I show you again?” he asked. Kiol shook his head. “You know the move?” Kiol nodded. Ruadhan examined him a moment. “Then why won’t you show me? I will not mind if it is done badly, in fact I expect it. No one will perfect anything on the first try.”

Kiol mumbled under his breath. Ruadhan raised an eyebrow. “Please know, Kiol, that I do not tolerate mumbling or muttering in my presence. If you speak, you must speak clearly.”

Kiol frowned and bit his lips together. He stared at the ground and gripped the simple black tunic he had been given. Simple, but better than any clothes he’d worn in a long time. He hoped if he was quiet for long enough Ruadhan would give up and leave him be, but the man did not move or speak, he only waited patiently. “I don’t want to break things,” Kiol finally said, a bit louder. “I told you. It’s bad.”

“It is not bad,” Ruadhan told him. “Destruction is not inherently bad. In fact, it is unavoidable in several parts of life. This target is made of straw, it is worth nothing, and it is made to be broken. Do you understand?” Kiol nodded, still staring at the ground. “Will you show me now?” When Kiol stayed silent, Ruadhan stood and walked to the dummy. He pulled some pieces from the belt around his waist and with a few flicks, sparks caught on the straw. In seconds it was up in flame.

Kiol watched, astonished.

“Do you see?” Ruadhan asked. “It is no matter if they are destroyed.” He beckoned over some soldiers. One brought water to put out the fire and the other brought another dummy, staking it into the ground where Ruadhan indicated.

Ruadhan returned to Kiol’s side. “Show me now.”

Kiol looked up at him. He turned back to the dummy and took a deep breath, then lunged forward as Ruadhan had shown and hit the heels of his hands, one after the other, in the middle of the target.

Ruadhan crossed his arms. “Harder please.” Kiol did it again. “You’re holding back,” Ruadhan chastised. “Whether you want to break things or not, Kiol, you always will. So you can take control of it and decide what to break, or you can continue destroying the things around you without discretion. Which would you prefer?”

“Neither,” Kiol said.

“You have to choose one.”

“I don’t want to!”

“You have no other choice.”

Kiol crouched to his heels and buried his face in his knees. He was not crying, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking or his breath from stuttering. After a moment a hand rested on his back.

“What are you afraid of?” Ruadhan asked. “I already showed you I won’t be angry.”

“You’ll leave,” Kiol whispered. “It doesn’t matter what I do. You’ll leave eventually.”

Ruadhan was quiet for a while. Then he pulled Kiol up. “Kiol, I promise you. No matter what you break, I won’t leave. You can break my arm, all the plates in the temple, you could burn down the temple itself.” Ruadhan gripped his shoulders and forced Kiol to face him. “I promise. I will never abandon you.”


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Kiol clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around the knife hilt. Ruadhan watched him with unrelenting calm. He raised the knife a twitch higher, willing himself to bring it down into the neck of the man who had taken him in, raised him, given him everything he had.

Kiol released his arm off Ruadhan’s neck and lurched off him like he was a bed of hot coals. Ruadhan struggled to his feet, holding his broken arm, and ran out the door.

Kiol sank to his knees and let the dagger slip from his fingers to the floor. The light from the doorway caught on the blade engraving. _Soul — Breaking — Fate_. He looked over at Nirin. The boy lay limp in a still-growing dark puddle. Kiol dragged himself up and stumbled over, streaking the blood with his footprints. With his unbroken arm he pulled Nirin up, draped one of the boy’s arms over his shoulders and hooked his arm snug around Nirin’s waist. But the boy was too limp to stay properly draped over him and Kiol couldn’t keep a good hold on him with just one arm while his boots slipped in blood.

He fell back to his knees and clumsily maneuvered Nirin to his lap. The boy’s pastel robes were dyed dark red, his black hair sticky and knotted, and the smell of iron saturated Kiol’s senses. “Fuck,” he muttered. What would he even do without Nirin? Continue helping Creator? Return to the city like nothing had happened? Try and stop Ruadhan from waking Envier? He didn’t care about any of that. His only reason for caring was dying in his arms.

“Fuck it,” he said louder. “Kid, if you die, I’m dying too. I didn’t ask you to fucking jump in front of a sword and save me. Fuck!” He slammed his fist to the floor, splattering blood. Then, like an opened dam, every ounce of anger and fear spilled out of him, leaving only sorrow. It was his fault, but there was nothing he could do. He knew he hadn’t deserved Nirin’s kindness and companionship; not someone like him. Foolishly, he had convinced himself otherwise, had convinced himself it would be different. But like everything worthwhile in his stupid, pathetic, selfish life, he had ruined it.

He hunched over and clutched Nirin tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Nirin. You deserved better than me. I'm so sorry." Nirin's eyes were closed, his chest had stopped struggling. Kiol knew the last sense to go was hearing.

"Among the stars there's a constellation called 'Deer Who Found Clear Water,'" he whispered. "Many, many years ago, when Creator was still making the first humans, a herd of deer lived off only the puddles formed by rain... ... ..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Book One. If anyone is actually reading this story (and note), thank you so much for reading. I hope you've enjoyed, and I hope you will have patience as I slowly try to write Book Two around my eight other projects and jobs I'm doing haha.


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